UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT   LOS  ANGELES 


THE  GIFT  OF 

MAY  TREAT  MORRISON 

IN  MEMORY  OF 

ALEXANDER  F  MORRISON 


THE 

A.F.  MORRISON 
MEMORIAL  LIBRARY 


'WHERE  ANGELS 
FEAR  TO  TREAD" 

And  Other  Tales  of  the  Sea 


BY 

MORGAN  ROBERTSON 


McKINLAY,  STONE  &  MACKENZIE 

NEW  YORK 


Copyright,  1899,  by 
THE  CENTURY  Co. 


Copyright,  1898,  by  Houghton,  Mifflln  &  Co. 

Copyright,  1898,  1899,  by  The  Curtis  Publishing  0<X 

Copyright,  1899,  by  Peter  F6nelon  Collier. 

Copyright,  1899,  by  Street  &  Smith. 

Copyright,  1897,  1898,  by  The  8.  8.  McClure  Co. 

Copyright,  1898,  by  Harper  &  Brothers. 


WOKRISON  MEMORIAL  LIBRARY 


THE  QUINN   A   BOOEN   CO.  PRESS 


N. 
CM 

5 

TO   ITS   GODFATHEB 

JOHN  S.  PHILLIPS 

THIS   BOOK   IS   GRATEFULLY 
DEDICATED 

<r 
Of 

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.429058 


"  *  Where  Angels  Fear  to  Tread  '  "  was  first  pub- 
lished in  the  "Atlantic  Monthly";  "Salvage"  in 
the  "  Century  Magazine  " ;  "  The  Brain  of  the  Bat- 
tle-Ship," "  The  Wigwag  Message,"  "  Between  the 
Millstones,"  and  "  The  Battle  of  the  Monsters,"  in 
the  "  Saturday  Evening  Post  ";  "  The  Trade-Wind  " 
in  "Collier's  Weekly";  "From  the  Royal- Yard 
Down"  in  "  Ainslee's  Magazine";  "Needs  Must 
When  the  Devil  Drives  "  and  "  When  Greek  Meets 
Greek  "  in  McClure's  Syndicate ;  and  "  Primordial  " 
in  "  Harper's  Monthly  Magazine." 

To  the  publishers  of  these  periodicals  I  am  in- 
debted for  the  privilege  of  republishing  the  stories 
in  book  form. 

MORGAN  ROBERTSON. 


CONTENTS 

PAGB 

"WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD  "  .  .  ..,  1 
THE  BRAIN  OF  THE  BATTLE-SHIP  .  .  .47 

THE  WIGWAG  MESSAGE 72 

THE  TRADE-WIND 91 

SALVAGE 118 

BETWEEN  THE  MILLSTONES  ....  139 
THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  MONSTERS  .  .  .  158 
FROM  THE  ROYAL- YARD  DOWN  ....  175 
NEEDS  MUST  WHEN  THE  DEVIL  DRIVES  .  .  192 
WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK  ....  213 
PRIMORDIAL  ...  .  .  224» 


"WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO 
TREAD " 

"  I  have  seen  wicked  men  and  fools,  a  great  many  of  each;  and 
I  believe  they  both  get  paid  in  the  end,  but  th-2  fools  first." 
ROBERT  L^ijfa; 

PAET  I  "    ; 

THE  first  man  to  climb  the  Almena's  side-ladder 
from  the  tug  was  the  shipping-master,  and  after 
him  came  the  crew  he  had  shipped.  They  clustered 
at  the  rail,  looking  around  and  aloft  with  muttered 
profane  comments,  one  to  the  other,  while  the  ship- 
ping-master approached  a  gray-eyed  giant  who  stood 
with  a  shorter  but  broader  man  at  the  poop-deck 
steps. 

"  Mr.  Jackson — the  mate  here,  I  s'pose?  "  inquired 
the  shipping-master.  A  nod  answered  him.  "  I've 
brought  you  a  good  crew,"  he  continued;  "  we'll  just 
tally  'em  off,  and  then  you  can  sign  my  receipt.  The 
captain'll  be  down  with  the  pilot  this  afternoon." 

"  I'm  the  mate — yes,"  said  the  giant ;  "  but  what 
dry-goods  store  did  you  raid  for  that  crowd?  Did 
the  captain  pick  'em  out?  " 

"A  delegation  o'  parsons,"  muttered  the  short, 
broad  man,  contemptuously. 

"No,  they're  not  parsons,"  said  the  shipping- 
master,  as  he  turned  to  the  man,  the  slightest  trace 
of  a  smile  on  his  seamy  face.  "  You're  Mr.  Becker, 
the  second  mate,  I  take  it;  you'll  find  'em  all  right, 
sir.  They're  sailors,  and  good  ones,  too.  No,  Mr. 


2     "  WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD  " 

Jackson,  the  skipper  didn't  pick  'em — just  asked  me 
for  sixteen  good  men,  and  there  you  are.  Muster 
up  to  the  capstan  here,  boys,"  he  called,  "  and  be 
counted." 

As  they  grouped  themselves  amidships  with  their 
clothes-bags,  the  shipping-master  beckoned  the  chief 
mate  over  to  the  rail. 

"  You  Gee,;  Mr.-  Jackson,"  he  said,  with  a  backward 
glance -at  ^nV'mqi,  "I've  only  played  the  regular 
dodgt  «a:'eih./\  They've  all  got  the  sailor's  bug  in 
their  heads  arid  want  to  go  coasting ;  so  I  told  'em 
this  was  a  coaster." 

"  So  she  is,"  answered  the  officer ;  "  round  the  Horn 
to  Callao  is  coasting.  What  more  do  they  want?" 

"  Yes,  but  I  said  nothin'  of  Callao,  and  they  were 
all  three  sheets  i'  the  wind  when  they  signed,  so  they 
didn't  notice  the  articles.  They  expected  a  schooner, 
too,  big  enough  for  sixteen  men;  but  I've  just  talked 
'em  out  of  that  notion.  They  think,  too,  that  they'll 
have  a  week  in  port  to  see  if  they  like  the  craft ;  and 
to  make  'em  think  it  was  easy  to  quit,  I  told  'em  to 
sign  nicknames — made  'em  believe  that  a  wrong  name 
on  the  articles  voided  the  contract." 

"But  it  don't.  They're  here,  and  they'll  stay — 
that  is,  if  they  know  enough  to  man  the  windlass." 

"  Of  course — of  course.  I'm  just  givin'  you  a 
pointer.  You  may  have  to  run  them  a  little  at  the 
start,  but  that's  easy.  Now  we'll  tally  'em  off.  Don't 
mind  the  names ;  they'll  answer  to  'em.  You  see, 
they're  all  townies,  and  bring  their  names  from  home." 

The  shipping-master  drew  a  large  paper  from  his 
pocket,  and  they  approached  the  men  at  the  capstan, 
where  the  short,  broad  second  mate  had  been  taking 
their  individual  measures  with  scowling  eye. 


"WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD"     3 

It  was  a  strange  crew  for  the  forecastle  of  an  out- 
ward-bound, deep-water  American  ship.  Mr.  Jack- 
son looked  in  vain  for  the  heavy,  foreign  faces,  the 
greasy  canvas  jackets  and  blanket  trousers  he  was 
accustomed  to  see.  Not  that  these  men  seemed  to  be 
landsmen — each  carried  in  his  face  and  bearing  the 
indefinable  something  by  which  sailors  of  all  races 
may  distinguish  each  other  at  a  glance  from  fisher- 
men, tugmen,  and  deck-hands.  They  were  all  young 
men,  and  their  intelligent  faces — blemished  more  or 
less  with  marks  of  overnight  dissipation — were  as 
sunburnt  as  were  those  of  the  two  mates ;  and  where 
a  hand  could  be  seen,  it  showed  as  brown  and  tarry  as 
that  of  the  ablest  able  seaman.  There  were  no  chests 
among  them,  but  the  canvas  clothes-bags  were  the 
genuine  article,  and  they  shouldered  and  handled  them 
as  only  sailors  can.  Yet,  aside  from  these  externals, 
they  gave  no  sign  of  being  anything  but  well-paid, 
well-fed,  self-respecting  citizens,  who  would  read  the 
papers,  discuss  politics,  raise  families,  and  drink  more 
than  is  good  on  pay-nights,  to  repent  at  church  in 
the  morning.  The  hands  among  them  that  were 
hidden  were  covered  with  well-fitting  gloves — kid  or 
dogskin ;  all  wore  white  shirts  and  fashionable  neck- 
wear; their  shoes  were  polished;  their  hats  were  in 
style;  and  here  and  there,  where  an  unbuttoned,  silk- 
faced  overcoat  exposed  the  garments  beneath,  could 
be  seen  a  gold  watch-chain  with  tasteful  charm. 

"  Now,  boys,"  said  the  shipping-master,  cheerily, 
as  he  unfolded  the  articles  on  the  capstan-head,  "  an- 
swer, and  step  over  to  starboard  as  I  read  your 
names.  Ready?  Tosser  Galvin." 

"  Here."  A  man  carried  his  bag  across  the  deck 
a  short  distance. 


4     "  WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD  " 

"  Bigpig  Monahan."  Another — as  large  a  man  as 
tfae  mate — answered  and  followed. 

"Moccasey  Gill." 

**  Good  God ! "  muttered  the  mate,  as  this  man 
responded. 

"  Sinful  Peck."  An  undersized  man,  with  a  culti- 
vated blond  mustache,  lifted  his  hat  politely  to  Mr. 
Jackson,  disclosing  a  smooth,  bald  head,  and  passed 
over,  smiling  sweetly.  Whatever  his  character,  his 
name  belied  his  appearance ;  for  his  face  was  cherubic 
in  its  innocence. 

"  Say,"  interrupted  the  mate,  angrily,  "  what 
kind  of  a  game  is  this,  anyhow?  Are  these  men 
sailors?" 

"  Yes,  yea,"  answered  the  shipping-master,  hur- 
riedly; "you'll  find  'em  all  right.  And,  Sinful,"  he 
added,  as  he  frowned  reprovingly  at  the  last  man 
named,  "  don't  you  get  gay  till  my  receipt's  signed 
and  I'm  clear  of  you." 

Mr.  Jackson  wondered,  but  subsided ;  and,  each 
name  bringing  forth  a  response,  the  reader  called  off: 
"  Seldom  Helward,  Shiner  O'Toole,  Senator  Sands, 
Jump  Black,  Yampaw  Gallagher,  Sorry  Welch, 
Yorker  Jimson,  General  Lannigan,  Turkey  Twain, 
Gunner  Meagher,  Ghost  O'Brien,  and  Poop-deck 
Cahill." 

Then  the  astounded  Mr.  Jackson  broke  forth  pro- 
fanely. "  I've  been  shipmates,"  he  declared  between 
oaths,  "with  freak  names  of  all  nations;  but  this 
gang  beats  me.  Say,  you,"  he  called, — "you  with 
the  cro'-jack  eye  there, — what's  that  name  you  go 
by?  Who  are  you?"  He  spoke  to  the  large  man 
who  had  answered  to  "  Bigpig  Monahan,"  and  who 
suffered  from  a  slight  distortion  of  one  eye ;  but  the 


"WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD"    5 

man,  instead  of  civilly  repeating  his  name,  answered 
curtly  and  coolly: 

"  I'm  the  man  that  struck  Billy  Patterson." 

Fully  realizing  that  the  mate  who  hesitates  is  lost, 
and  earnestly  resolved  to  rebuke  this  man  as  his  in- 
solence required,  Mr.  Jackson  had  secured  a  belaying- 
pin  and  almost  reached  him,  when  he  found  himself 
looking  into  the  bore  of  a  pistol  held  by  the  shipping- 
master. 

"  Now,  stop  this,"  said  the  latter,  firmly ;  "  stop 
it  right  here,  Mr.  Jackson.  These  men  are  under  my 
care  till  you've  signed  my  receipt.  After  that  you 
can  do  as  you  like ;  but  if  you  touch  one  of  them  be- 
fore you  sign,  I'll  have  you  up  'fore  the  commissioner. 
And  you  fellers,"  he  said  over  his  shoulder,  "  you 
keep  still  and  be  civil  till  I'm  rid  of  you.  I've  used 
you  well,  got  your  berths,  and  charged  you  nothin'. 
All  I  wanted  was  to  get  Cappen  Benson  the  right  kind 
of  a  crew." 

"  Let's  see  that  receipt,"  snarled  the  mate.  "  Put 
that  gun  up,  too,  or  I'll  show  you  one  of  my  own. 
I'll  tend  to  your  good  men  when  you  get  ashore." 
He  glared  at  the  quiescent  Bigpig,  and  followed  the 
shipping-master — who  still  held  his  pistol  ready, 
however — over  to  the  rail,  where  the  receipt  was  pro- 
duced and  signed. 

"  Away  you  go,  now,"  said  the  mate ;  "  you  and 
your  gun.  Get  over  the  side." 

The  shipping-master  did  not  answer  until  he  had 
scrambled  down  to  the  waiting  tug  and  around  to  the 
far  side  of  her  deck-house.  There,  ready  to  dodge,  he 
looked  up  at  the  mate  with  a  triumphant  grin  on  his 
shrewd  face,  and  called: 

"Say,  Mr.  Jackson,  'member  the  old  bark  Fair 


6    "WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD" 

Wind  ten  years  ago,  and  the  ordinary  seaman  you 
triced  up  and  skinned  alive  with  a  deck-scraper? 
D'  you  'member,  curse  you?  'Member  breakin'  the 
same  boy's  arm  with  a  heaver?  You  do,  don't  you? 
I'm  him.  'Member  me  sayin'  I'd  get  square?  " 

He  stepped  back  to  avoid  the  whirling  belaying- 
pin  sent  by  the  mate,  which,  rebounding,  only  smashed 
a  window  in  the  pilot-house.  Then,  amid  an  exchange 
of  blasphemous  disapproval  between  Mr.  Jackson  and 
the  tug  captain,  and  derisive  jeers  from  the  shipping- 
master, — who  also  averred  that  Mr.  Jackson  ought  to 
be  shot,  but  was  not  worth  hanging  for, — the  tug 
gathered  in  her  lines  and  steamed  away. 

Wrathful  of  soul,  Mr.  Jackson  turned  to  the  men 
on  the  deck.  They  had  changed  their  position ;  they 
were  now  close  to  the  fife-rail  at  the  mainmast,  sur- 
rounding Bigpig  Monahan  (for  by  their  names  we 
must  know  them),  who,  with  an  injured  expression  of 
face,  was  shedding  outer  garments  and  voicing  his 
opinion  of  Mr.  Jackson,  which  the  others  answered 
by  nods  and  encouraging  words.  He  had  dropped  a 
pair  of  starched  cuffs  over  a  belaying-pin,  and  was 
rolling  up  his  shirt-sleeve,  showing  an  arm  as  large 
as  a  small  man's  leg,  and  the  mate  was  just  about 
to  interrupt  the  discourse,  when  the  second  mate 
called  his  name.  Turning,  he  beheld  him  beckoning 
violently  from  the  cabin  companionway,  and  joined 
him. 

"  Got  your  gun,  Mr.  Jackson?  "  asked  the  second 
officer,  anxiously,  as  he  drew  him  within  the  door.  "  I 
started  for  mine  when  the  shippin'-master  pulled. 
I  can't  make  that  crowd  out ;  but  they're  lookin'  for 
fight,  that's  plain.  When  you  were  at  the  rail  they 
were  sayin':  *  Soak  him,  Bigpig.'  *  Paste  him,  Big- 


"WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD"    7 

pig.'  '  Put  a  head  on  him.'  They  might  be  a  lot  o* 
prize-fighters." 

Mr.  Becker  was  not  afraid ;  his  position  and  duties 
forbade  it.  He  was  simply  human,  and  confronted 
with  a  new  problem. 

"  Don't  care  a  rap  what  they  are,"  answered  the 
mate,  who  was  sufficiently  warmed  up  to  welcome  any 
problem.  They'll  get  fight  enough.  We'll  overhaul 
their  dunnage  first  for  whisky  and  knives,  then  turn 
them  to.  Come  on — I'm  heeled." 

They  stepped  out  and  advanced  to  the  capstan 
amidships,  each  with  a  hand  in  his  trousers 
pocket. 

"  Pile  those  bags  against  the  capstan  here,  and 
go  forrard,"  ordered  the  mate,  in  his  most  officer- 
like  tone. 

"  Go  to  the  devil,"  they  answered.  "  What  for?— 
they're  our  bags,  not  yours.  Who  in  Sam  Hill  are 
you,  anyhow?  What  are  you?  You  talk  like  a 
p'liceman." 

Before  this  irreverence  could  be  replied  to  Bigpig 
Monahan  advanced. 

"  Look  here,  old  horse,"  he  said ;  "  I  don't  know 
whether  you're  captain  or  mate,  or  owner  or  cook; 
and  I  don't  care,  either.  You  had  somethin'  to  say 
'bout  my  eyes  just  now.  Nature  made  my  eyes,  and 
I  can't  help  how  they  look ;  but  I  don't  allow  any  big 
bullheads  to  make  remarks  'bout  'em.  You're  spoilin' 
for  somethin.'  Put  up  your  hands."  He  threw  him- 
self into  an  aggressive  attitude,  one  mighty  fist  within 
six  inches  of  Mr.  Jackson's  face. 

"  Go  forrard,"  roared  the  officer,  his  gray  eyes 
sparkling ;  "  forrard,  all  o'  you !  " 

"  We'll  settle  this ;  then  we'll  go  forrard.    There'll 


8    "  WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD  " 

be  fair  play;  these  men'll  see  to  that.  You'll  only 
have  me  to  handle.  Put  up." 

Mr.  Jackson  did  not  "  put  up."  He  repeated  again 
his  order  to  go  forward,  and  was  struck  on  the  nose — 
not  a  hard  blow ;  just  a  preliminary  tap,  which  started 
blood.  He  immediately  drew  his  pistol  and  shot  the 
man,  who  fell  with  a  groan. 

An  expression  of  shock  and  horror  overspread 
every  face  among  the  crew,  and  they  surged  back, 
away  from  that  murderous  pistol.  A  momentary  hesi- 
tance  followed,  then  horror  gave  way  to  furious  rage, 
and  carnage  began.  Coats  and  vests  were  flung  off, 
belaying-pins  and  capstan-bars  seized;  inarticulate, 
half-uttered  imprecations  punctuated  by  pistol  re- 
ports drowned  the  storm  of  abuse  with  which  the 
mates  justified  the  shot,  and  two  distinct  bands  of 
men  swayed  and  zigzagged  about  the  deck,  the  center 
of  each  an  officer  fighting  according  to  his  lights — 
shooting  as  he  could  between  blows  of  fists  and  clubs. 
Then  the  smoke  of  battle  thinned  and  two  men  with 
sore  heads  and  bleeding  faces  retreated  painfully  and 
hurriedly  to  the  cabin,  followed  by  snarling  male- 
dictions and  threats. 

It  was  hardly  a  victory  for  either  side.  The  pis- 
tols were  empty  and  the  fight  taken  out  of  the  mates 
for  a  time ;  and  on  the  deck  lay  three  moaning  men, 
while  two  others  clung  to  the  fife-rail,  draining  blood 
from  limp,  hanging  arms.  But  eleven  sound  and  an- 
gry men  were  left — and  the  officers  had  more  ammuni- 
tion. They  entered  their  rooms,  mopped  their  faces 
with  wet  towels,  reloaded  the  firearms,  pocketed  the 
remaining  cartridges,  and  returned  to  the  deck,  the 
mate  carrying  a  small  ensign. 

"  Well  run  it  up  to  the  main,  Becker,"  he  said 


"WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD"     9 

thickly, — for  he  suffered, — ignoring  in  his  excitement 
the  etiquette  of  the  quarter-deck. 

"  Aye,  aye,"  said  the  other,  equally  unmindful 
of  his  breeding.  "  Will  we  go  for  'em  again?  "  The 
problem  had  defined  itself  to  Mr.  Becker.  These  men 
would  fight,  but  not  shoot. 

"  No,  no,"  answered  the  mate ;  "  not  unless  they 
go  for  us  and  it's  self-defense.  They're  not  sailors 
— they  don't  know  where  they  are.  We  don't  want 
to  get  into  trouble.  Sailors  don't  act  that  way. 
We'll  wait  for  the  captain  or  the  police."  Which, 
interpreted,  and  plus  the  slight  shade  of  anxiety 
showing  in  his  disfigured  face,  meant  that  Mr.  Jack- 
son was  confronted  with  a  new  phase  of  the  problem : 
as  to  how  much  more  unsafe  it  might  be  to  shoot 
down,  on  the  deck  of  a  ship,  men  who  did  not  know 
where  they  were,  than  to  shoot  down  sailors  who  did. 
So,  while  the  uninjured  men  were  assisting  the 
wounded  five  into  the  forecastle,  the  police  flag  was 
run  up  to  the  main-truck,  and  the  two  mates  retired 
to  the  poop  to  wait  and  watch. 

In  a  few  moments  the  eleven  men  came  aft  in  a 
body,  empty-handed,  however,  and  evidently  with 
no  present  hostile  intention:  they  had  merely  come 
for  their  clothes.  But  that  dunnage  had  not  been 
searched ;  and  in  it  might  be  all  sorts  of  dangerous 
weapons  and  equally  dangerous  whisky,  the  posses- 
sion of  which  could  bring  an  unpleasant  solution  to 
the  problem.  So  Mr.  Jackson  and  Mr.  Becker 
leveled  their  pistols  over  the  poop-rail,  and,  the  chief 
mate  roared :  "  Let  those  things  alone — let  'em  alone, 
or  we'll  drop  some  more  o'  you." 

The  men  halted,  hesitated,  and  sullenly  returned 
to  the  forecastle. 


10     "WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD" 

"Guess  they've  had  enough,"  said  Mr.  Becker, 
jubilantly. 

"  Don't  fool  yourself.  They're  not  used  to  blood- 
letting, that's  all.  If  it  wasn't  for  my  wife  and  the 
kids  I'd  lower  the  dinghy  and  jump  her;  and  it  isn't 
them  I'd  run  from,  either.  As  it  is,  I've  half  a  mind 
to  haul  down  the  flag,  and  let  the  old  man  settle  it. 
Steward,"  he  called  to  a  mild-faced  man  who  had  been 
flitting  from  galley  to  cabin,  unmindful  'of  the 
disturbance,  "  go  forrard  and  find  out  how 
bad  those  fellows  are  hurt.  Don't  say  I  sent  you, 
though." 

The  steward  obeyed,  and  returned  with  the  infor- 
mation that  two  men  had  broken  arms,  two  flesh- 
wounds  in  the  legs,  and  one — the  big  man — suffered 
from  a  ragged  hole  through  the  shoulder.  All  were 
stretched  out  in  bedless  bunks,  unwilling  to  move. 
He  had  been  asked  numerous  questions  by  the  others 
— as  to  where  the  ship  was  bound,  who  the  men  were 
who  had  shot  them,  why  there  was  no  bedding  in  the 
forecastle,  the  captain's  whereabouts,  and  the  possi- 
bility of  getting  ashore  to  swear  out  warrants.  He 
had  also  been  asked  for  bandages  and  hot  water, 
which  he  requested  permission  to  supply,  as  the 
wounded  men  were  suffering  greatly.  This  permis- 
sion was  refused,  and  the  slight — very  slight — 
nautical  flavor  to  the  queries,  and  the  hopeful  condi- 
tion of  the  stricken  ones,  decided  Mr.  Jackson  to 
leave  the  police  flag  at  the  masthead. 

When  dinner  was  served  in  the  cabin,  and  Mr. 
Jackson  sat  down  before  a  savory  roast,  leaving 
Mr.  Becker  on  deck  to  watch,  the  steward  imparted 
the  additional  information  that  the  men  forward 
expected  to  eat  in  the  cabin. 


« WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD"    11 

"Hang  it!"  he  mused;  "they  can't  be  saflor- 
men." 

Then  Mr.  Becker  reached  his  head  down  the  sky- 
light, and  said:  "  Raisin5  the  devil  with  the  cook,  sir 
— dragged  him  out  o*  the  galley  into  the  forecastle." 

"  Are  they  coming  aft?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  All  right.    Watch  out." 

The  mate  went  on  eating,  and  the  steward  hurried 
forward  to  learn  the  fate  of  his  assistant.  He  did 
not  return  until  Mr.  Jackson  was  about  to  leave  the 
cabin.  Then  he  came,  with  a  wry  face  and  disgust  in 
his  soul,  complaining  that  he  had  been  seized,  hustled 
into  the  forecastle,  and  compelled,  with  the  Chinese 
cook,  to  eat  of  the  salt  beef  and  pea-soup  prepared 
for  the  men,  which  lay  untouched  by  them.  In  spite 
of  his  aches  and  trouble  of  mind,  Mr.  Jackson  was 
moved  to  a  feeble  grin. 

"  Takes  a  sailor  or  a  hog  to  eat  it,  hey,  Steward?  " 
he  said. 

He  relieved  Mr.  Becker,  who  ate  his  dinner  hur- 
riedly, as  became  a  good  second  mate,  and  the  two 
resumed  their  watch  on  the  poop,  noticing  that  the 
cook  was  jabbering  Chinese  protest  in  the  galley, 
and  that  the  men  had  climbed  to  the  topgallant- 
forecastle — also  watching,  and  occasionally  waving 
futile  signals  to  passing  tugs  or  small  sailing-craft. 
They,  too,  might  have  welcomed  the  police  boat. 

But,  either  because  the  Almena  lay  too  far  over  on 
the  Jersey  flats  for  the  flag  to  be  noticed,  or  because 
harbor  police  share  the  fallibility  of  their  shore 
brethren  in  being  elsewhere  when  wanted,  no  shiny 
black  steamer  with  blue-coated  guard  appeared  to 
investigate  the  trouble,  and  it  was  well  on  toward 


1.2    "WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD" 

three  o'clock  before  a  tug  left  the  beaten  track  to 
the  eastward  and  steamed  over  to  the  ship.  The 
officers  took  her  lines  as  she  came  alongside,  and 
two  men  climbed  the  side-ladder — one,  a  Sandy  Hook 
pilot,  who  need  not  be  described;  the  other,  the  cap- 
tain of  the  ship. 

Captain  Benson,  in  manner  and  appearance,  was 
as  superior  to  the  smooth-shaven  and  manly-looking 
Mr.  Jackson  as  the  latter  was  to  the  misformed, 
hairy,  and  brutal  second  mate.  With  his  fashionably 
cut  clothing,  steady  blue  eye,  and  refined  features, 
he  could  have  been  taken  for  an  easy-going  club-man 
or  educated  army  officer  rather  than  the  master  of 
a  working-craft.  Yet  there  was  no  lack  of  seamanly 
decision  in  the  leap  he  made  from  the  rail  to  the 
deck,  or  in  the  tone  of  his  voice  as  he  demanded: 

"  What's  the  police  flag  up  for,  Mr.  Jackson?  " 

"  Mutiny,  sir.  They  started  in  to  lick  me  'fore 
turning  to,  and  we've  shot  five,  but  none  of  them 
fatally." 

"  Lower  that  flag — at  once." 

Mr.  Becker  obeyed  this  order,  and  as  the  flag 
fluttered  down  the  captain  received  an  account  of 
the  crew's  misdoing  from  the  mate.  He  stepped 
into  his  cabin,  and  returning  with  a  double-barreled 
shot-gun,  leaned  it  against  the  booby-hatch,  and  said 
quietly :  "  Call  all  hands  aft  who  can  come." 

Mr.  Jackson  delivered  the  order  in  a  roar,  and 
the  eleven  men  forward,  who  had  been  watching  the 
newcomers  from  the  forecastle,  straggled  aft  and 
clustered  near  the  capstan,  all  of  them  hatless  and 
coatless,  shivering  palpably  in  the  keen  December 
air.  With  no  flinching  of  their  eyes,  they  stared  at 
Captain  Benson  and  the  pilot. 


"WHERE. ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD"     19 

"  Now,  men,"  said  the  captain, "  what's  this  trouble 
about?  What's  the  matter?  " 

"Are  you  the  captain  here?"  asked  a  red-haired, 
Roman-nosed  man,  as  he  stepped  out  of  the  group. 
"  There's  matter  enough.  We  ship  for  a  run  down 
to  Rio  Janeiro  and  back  in  a  big  schooner ;  and  here 
we're  put  aboard  a  square-rigged  craft,  that  we  don't 
know  anything  about,  bound  for  Callao,  and  'fore 
we're  here  ten  minutes  we're  howled  at  and  shot. 
Bigpig  Monahan  thinks  he's  goin'  to  die;  he's 
bleedin' — they're  all  bleedin',  like  stuck  pigs.  Sorry 
Welch  and  Turkey  Twain  ha'  got  broken  arms,  and 
Jump  Black  and  Ghost  O'Brien  got  it  in  the  legs 
and  can't  stand  up.  What  kind  o'  work  is  this, 
anyhow?" 

"  That's  perfectly  right.  You  were  shot  for  as- 
saulting my  officers.  Do  you  call  yourselves  able 
seamen,  and  say  you  know  nothing  about  square- 
rigged  craft?" 

*'  We're  able  seamen  on  the  Lakes.  We  can  get 
along  in  schooners.  That's  what  we  came  down 
for." 

Captain  Benson's  lips  puckered,  and  he  whistled 
softly.  "The  Lakes,"  he  said — '"lake  sailors. 
What  part  of  the  Lakes?  " 

"  Oswego.     We're  all  union  men." 

The  captain  took  a  turn  or  two  along  the  deck, 
then  faced  them,  and  said :  "  Men,  I've  been  fooled 
as  well  as  you.  I  would  not  have  an  Oswego  sailor 
aboard  my  ship — much  less  a  whole  crew  of  them. 
You  may  know  your  work  up  there,  but  are  almost 
useless  here  until  you  learn.  Although  I  paid  five 
dollars  a  man  for  you,  I'd  put  you  ashore  and  ship 
a  new  crew  were  it  not  for  the  fact  that  five  wounded 


14     "WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD" 

men  going  out  of  this  ship  requires  explanations, 
which  would  delay  my  sailing  and  incur  expense  to 
my  owners.  However,  I  give  you  the  choice — to  go 
to  sea,  and  learn  your  work  under  the  mates,  or  go 
to  jail  as  mutineers;  for  to  protect  my  officers  I 
must  prosecute  you  all." 

"  S'pose  we  do  neither?  " 

"  You  will  probably  be  shot — to  the  last  resisting 
man — either  by  us  or  the  harbor  police.  You  are 
up  against  the  law." 

They  looked  at  each  other  with  varying  expres- 
sions on  their  faces ;  then  one  asked :  "  What  about 
the  bunks  in  the  forecastle?  There's  no  bedding." 

"  If  you  failed  to  bring  your  own,  you  will  sleep 
on  the  bunk-boards  without  it." 

"And  that  swill  the  Chinaman  cooked  at  dinner- 
time—what about  that?  " 

"  You  will  get  the  allowance  of  provisions  pro- 
vided by  law — no  more.  And  you  will  eat  it  in  the 
forecastle.  Also,  if  you  have  neglected  to  bring  pots, 
pans,  and  spoons,  you  will  very  likely  eat  it  with  your 
fingers.  This  is  not  a  lake  vessel,  where  sailors  eat 
at  the  cabin  table,  with  knives  and  forks.  Decide 
this  matter  quickly." 

The  captain  began  pacing  the  deck,  and  the  list- 
ening pilot  stepped  forward,  and  said  kindly :  "  Take 
my  advice,  boys,  and  go  along.  You're  in  for  it  if 
you  don't." 

They  thanked  him  with  their  eyes  for  the  sym- 
pathy, conferred  together  for  a  few  moments,  then 
their  spokesman  called  out :  "  We'll  leave  it  to  the 
fellers  f orrard,  captain  " ;  and  forward  they  trooped. 
In  five  minutes  they  were  back,  with  resolution  in 
their  faces. 


"WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD"     15 

"  We'll  go,  captain,"  their  leader  said.  "  Bigpig 
can't  be  moved  'thout  killin'  him,  and  says  if  he 
lives  he'll  follow  your  mate  to  hell  but  he'll  pay  him 
back ;  and  the  others  talk  the  same ;  and  we'll  stand 
by  'em — we'll  square  up  this  day's  work." 

Captain  Benson  brought  his  walk  to  a  stop  close 
to  the  shot-gun.  "  Very  well,  that  is  your  declara- 
tion," he  said,  his  voice  dropping  the  conversational 
tone  he  had  assumed,  and  taking  on  one  more  in 
accordance  with  his  position;  "now  I  will  deliver 
mine.  We  sail  at  once  for  Callao  and  back  to  an 
American  port  of  discharge.  You  know  your 
wages — fourteen  dollars  a  month.  I  am  master  of 
this  ship,  responsible  to  my  owners  and  the  law  for 
the  lives  of  all  on  board.  And  this  responsibility  in- 
cludes the  right  to  take  the  life  of  a  mutineer.  You 
have  been  such,  but  I  waive  the  charge  considering 
your  ignorance  of  salt-water  custom  and  your  agree- 
ment to  start  anew.  The  law  defines  your  allowance 
of  food,  but  not  your  duties  or  your  working-  and 
sleeping-time.  That  is  left  to  the  discretion  of  your 
captain  and  officers.  Precedent — the  decision  of  the 
courts — has  decided  the  privilege  of  a  captain  or 
officer  to  punish  insolence  or  lack  of  respect  from  a 
sailor  with  a  blow — of  a  fist  or  missile;  but,  under- 
stand me  now,  a  return  of  the  blow  makes  that  man 
a  mutineer,  and  his  prompt  killing  is  justified  by  the 
law  of  the  land.  Is  this  plain  to  you?  You  are  here 
to  answer  and  obey  orders  respectfully,  adding  the 
word  *  sir '  to  each  response ;  you  are  never  to  go  to 
windward  of  an  officer,  or  address  him  by  name 
without  the  prefix  'Mr.';  and  you  are  to  work 
civilly  and  faithfully,  resenting  nothing  said  to  you 
until  you  are  discharged  in  an  American  port  at 


16    "WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD" 

the  end  of  the  voyage.  A  failure  in  this  will  bring 
you  prompt  punishment;  and  resentment  of  this 
punishment  on  your  part  will  bring — death.  Mr. 
Jackson,"  he  concluded,  turning  to  his  first  officer, 
"  overhaul  their  dunnage,  turn  them  to,  and  man  the 
windlass." 

A  man — the  bald-headed  Sinful  Peck — sprang 
forward;  but  his  face  was  not  cherubic  now.  His 
blue  eyes  blazed  with  emotion  much  in  keeping  with 
his  sobriquet;  and,  raising  his  hand,  the  nervously 
crooking  fingers  of  which  made  it  almost  a  fist,  he 
said,  in  a  voice  explosively  strident: 

"  That's  all  right.  That's  your  say.  You've  de- 
scribed the  condition  o'  nigger  slaves,  not  American 
voters.  And  I'll  tell  you  one  thing,  right  here — I'm 
a  free-born  citizen.  I  know  my  work,  and  can  do  it, 
without  bein'  cursed  and  abused;  and  if  you  or  your 
mates  rub  my  fur  the  wrong  way  I'm  goin'  to  claw 
back ;  and  if  I'm  shot,  you  want  to  shoot  sure ;  for  if 
you  don't,  I'll  kill  that  man,  if  I  have  to  lash  my 
knife  to  a  broom-handle,  and  prod  him  through  his 
window  when  he's  asleep." 

But  alas  for  Sinful  Peck !  He  had  barely  finished 
his  defiance  when  he  fell  like  a  log  under  the  impact 
of  the  big  mate's  fist ;  then,  while  the  pilot,  turning 
his  back  on  the  painful  scene,  walked  aft,  nodding 
and  shaking  his  head,  and  the  captain's  strong 
language  and  leveled  shot-gun  induced  the  men  to 
an  agitated  acquiescence,  the  two  officers  kicked 
and  stamped  upon  the  little  man  until  consciousness 
left  him.  Before  he  recovered  he  had  been  ironed 
to  a  stanchion  in  the  'tween-deck,  and  entered  in  the 
captain's  official  log  for  threatening  life.  And  by 
this  time  the  dunnage  had  been  searched,  a  few 


"WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD"     IT 

sheath-knives  tossed  overboard,  and  the  remaining 
ten  men  were  moodily  heaving  in  the  chain. 

And  so,  with  a  crippled  crew  of  schooner  sailors, 
the  square-rigger  Almena  was  towed  to  sea,  smolder- 
ing rebellion  in  one  end  of  her,  the  power  of  the  law 
in  the  other — murder  in  the  heart  of  every  man  on 
board. 

PART  n 

FIVE  months  later  the  Almena  lay  at  an  outer  moor- 
ing-buoy  in  Callao  Roads,  again  ready  for  sea,  but 
waiting.  With  her  at  the  anchorage  were  represent- 
atives of  most  of  the  maritime  nations.  English 
ships  and  barks  with  painted  ports,  and  spider-web 
braces,  high-sided,  square-sterned  American"  half- 
clippers,  clumsy,  square-bowed  "  Dutchmen,"  coast- 
ing-brigs of  any  nation,  lumber-schooners  from 
"  'Frisco,"  hide-carriers  from  Valparaiso,  pearl- 
boats  and  fishermen,  and  even  a  couple  of  homesick 
Malay  proas  from  the  west  crowded  the  roadstead; 
for  the  guano  trade  was  booming,  and  Callao  pros- 
perous. Nearly  every  type  of  craft  known  to  sailors 
was  there ;  but  the  postman  and  the  policeman  of  the 
seas — the  coastwise  mail-steamer  and  the  heavily 
sparred  man-of-war — were  conspicuously  absent. 
The  Pacific  Mail  boat  would  not  arrive  for  a  week, 
and  the  last  cruiser  had  departed  two  days  before. 

Beyond  the  faint  land-  and  sea-breeze,  there  was 
no  wind  nor  promise  of  it  for  several  days;  and 
Captain  Benson,  though  properly  cleared  at  the 
custom-house  for  New  York,  was  in  no  hurry,  and 
had  taken  advantage  of  the  delay  to  give  a  dinner 
to  some  captains  with  whom  he  had  fraternized  on 


18    "WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD" 

shore.  "  I've  a  first-rate  steward,"  he  had  told  them, 
"and  I'll  treat  you  well;  and  I've  the  best-trained 
crew  that  ever  went  to  sea.  Come,  all  of  you,  and 
bring  your  first  officers.  I  want  to  give  you  an  ob- 
ject-lesson on  the  influence  of  matter  over  mind  that 
you  can't  learn  in  the  books." 

So  they  came,  at  half-past  eleven,  in  their  own 
ships'  dinghies,  which  were  sent  back  with  orders 
to  return  at  nightfall — six  big-fisted,  more  or  less 
fat  captains,  and  six  big-fisted,  beetle-browed,  and 
embarrassed  chief  mates.  As  they  climbed  the  gang- 
way they  were  met  and  welcomed  by  Captain  Benson, 
who  led  them  to  the  poop,  the  only  dry  and  clean 
part  of  the  ship;  for  the  Almend's  crew  were  holy- 
stoning the  main-deck,  and  as  this  operation  consists 
in  grinding  off  the  oiled  surface  of  the  planks  with 
sandstone,  the  resulting  slime  of  sand,  oily  wood- 
pulp,  and  salt  water  made  walking  unpleasant,  as 
well  as  being  very  hard  on  polished  shoe-leather. 
But  in  this  filthy  slime  the  men  were  on  their  knees, 
working  the  six-inch  blocks  of  stone,  technically 
called  "  bibles,"  back  and  forth  with  about  the  speed 
and  motion  of  an  energetic  woman  over  a  wash- 
board. 

The  mates  also  were  working.  With  legs  clad  in 
long  rubber  boots,  they  filled  buckets  at  the  deck- 
pump  and  scattered  water  around  where  needed,  oc- 
casionally throwing  the  whole  bucketful  at  a  doubtful 
spot  on  the  deck  to  expose  it  to  criticism.  As  the 
visitors  lined  up  against  the  monkey-rail  and  looked 
down  on  the  scene,  Mr.  Becker  launched  such  a 
bucketful  as  only  a  second  mate  can — and  a  man  who 
happened  to  be  in  the  way  was  rolled  over  by  the 
unexpected  impact.  He  gasped  a  little  louder  than 


"WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD"     19 

might  have  been  necessary,  and  the  wasting  of  the 
bucketful  of  water  having  forced  Mr.  Becker  to  make 
an  extra  trip  to  the  pump,  the  officer  was  dulj 
incensed. 

"  Get  out  os  the  way,  there,"  he  bawled,  eying  the 
man  sternly.  "  What  are  you  gruntin'  at?  A  little 
water  won't  hurt  you — soap  neither." 

He  went  to  the  pump  for  more  water,  and  the 
man  crawled  back  to  his  holystone.  It  was  Bigpig 
Monahan,  hollow-eyed  and  thin,  slow  in  his  voluntary 
movements;  minus  his  look  of  injury,  too,  as  though 
he  might  have  welcomed  the  bowling  over  as  a 
momentary  respite  for  his  aching  muscles. 

Now  and  then,  when  the  officers'  faces  were  partly 
turned,  a  man  would  stop,  rise  erect  on  his  knees, 
and  bend  backward.  A  man  may  work  a  holystone 
much  longer  and  press  it  much  harder  on  the  deck 
for  these  occasional  stretchings  of  contracted  tissue ; 
but  the  two  mates  chose  to  ignore  this  physiological 
fact,  and  a  moment  later,  a  little  man,  caught  in  the 
act  by  Mr.  Jackson,  was  also  rolled  over  on  his  back, 
not  by  a  bucket  of  water,  but  by  the  boot  of  the 
mate,  who  uttered  words  suitable  to  the  occasion, 
and  held  his  hand  in  his  pocket  until  the  little  man, 
grinning  with  rage,  had  resumed  his  work. 

"There,"  said  Captain  Benson  to  his  guests  on 
the  poop ;  "  see  that  little  devil !  See  him  show  his 
teeth!  That  is  Mr.  Sinful  Peck.  I've  had  him  in 
irons  with  a  broken  head  five  times,  and  the  log  is 
full  of  him.  I  towed  him  over  the  stern  running  down 
the  trades  to  take  the  cussedness  out  of  him,  and  if 
he  had  not  been  born  for  higher  things,  he'd  have 
drowned.  He  was  absolutely  unconquerable  until  I 
found  him  telling  his  beads  one  time  in  irons  and 


80     "WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD" 

took  them  away  from  him.  Now  to  get  an  occa- 
sional chance  at  them  he  is  fairly  quiet." 

"  So  this  is  your  trained  crew,  is  it,  captain?  " 
said  a  grizzled  old  skipper  of  the  party.  "  What 
ails  that  fellow  down  in  the  scuppers  with  a  prayer- 
book?  "  He  pointed  to  a  man  who  with  one  hand 
was  rubbing  a  small  holystone  in  a  corner  where  a 
large  one  would  not  go. 

"  Ran  foul  of  the  big  end  of  a  handspike,"  an- 
swered Captain  Benson,  quietly ;  "  he'll  carry  his  arm 
in  splints  all  the  way  home,  I  think.  His  name  is 
Gunner  Meagher.  I  don't  know  how  they  got  their 
names,  but  they  signed  them  and  will  answer  to  them. 
They  are  unique.  Look  at  that  outlaw  down  there 
by  the  bitts.  That  is  Poop-deck  Cahill.  Looks  like 
a  prize-fighter,  doesn't  he?  But  the  steward  tells 
me  that  he  was  educated  for  the  priesthood,  and  fell 
by  the  wayside.  That  one  close  to  the  hatch — the 
one  with  the  red  head  and  hang-dog  jib — is  Seldom 
Helward.  He  was  shot  off  the  cro'-jack  yard;  he 
fell  into  the  lee  clew  of  the  cro'-jack,  so  we  pulled 
him  in." 

"What  did  he  do,  captain?"  asked  the  grizzled 
skipper. 

"  Threw  a  marlinespike  at  the  mate." 

"  What  made  him  throw  it?  " 

"  Never  asked.  I  suppose  he  objected  to  some- 
thing said  to  him." 

"  Ought  to  ha'  killed  him  on  the  yard.  Are  they 
all  of  a  kind?  " 

"  Every  man.  Not  one  knew  the  ropes  or  his  place 
when  he  shipped.  They're  schooner  sailors  from  the 
Lakes,  where  the  captain,  if  he  is  civil  and  respectful 
to  his  men,  is  as  good  as  any  of  them.  They  started 


"WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD"    £1 

to  clean  us  up  the  first  day,  but  failed,  and  I  went 
to  sea  with  them.  Since  then,  until  lately,  it  has 
been  war  to  the  knife.  I've  set  more  bones,  mended 
more  heads,  and  plugged  more  shot-holes  on  this 
passage  than  ever  before,  and  my  officers  have  grown 
perceptibly  thinner;  but  little  by  little,  man  by  man, 
we've  broken  them  in.  Still,  I  admit,  it  was  a  job. 
Why,  that  same  Seldom  Helward  I  ironed  and  ran 
up  on  the  fall  of  a  main-buntline.  We  were  rolling 
before  a  stiff  breeze  and  sea,  and  he  would  swing  six 
feet  over  each  rail  and  bat  against  the  mast  in 
transit;  but  the  dog  stood  it  eight  hours  before  he 
stopped  cursing  us.  Then  he  was  unconscious. 
When  he  came  to  in  the  forecastle,  he  was  ready  to 
begin  again ;  but  they  stopped  him.  They're  keeping 
a  log,  I  learn,  and  are  going  to  law.  Every  time  a 
man  gets  thumped  they  enter  the  tragedy,  and  all 
sign  their  names." 

Captain  Benson  smiled  dignifiedly  in  answer  to  the 
outburst  of  laughter  evoked  by  this,  and  the  men 
below  lifted  their  haggard,  hopeless  faces  an  instant 
and  looked  at  the  party  with  eyes  that  were  furtive 
— cat-like.  The  grinding  of  the  stones  prevented 
their  hearing  the  talk,  but  they  knew  that  they  were 
being  laughed  at. 

**  Never  knew  a  sailor  yet,"  wheezed  a  portly  and 
asthmatic  captain,  "  who  wasn't  ready  to  sue  the 
devil  and  try  the  court  in  hell  when  he's  at  sea. 
Trouble  is,  they  never  get  past  the  first  saloon." 

"  They  got  a  little  law  here,"  resumed  Captain 
Benson,  quietly.  "  I  put  them  all  in  the  guardo. 
The  consul  advised  it,  and  committed  them  for  fear 
they  might  desert  when  we  lay  at  the  dock.  When  I 
took  them  out  to  run  to  the  islands,  they  complained 


22    "WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD" 

of  being  starved;  and  to  tell  the  truth,  they  didn't 
throw  their  next  meal  overboard  as  usual.  Neverthe- 
less, a  good  four  weeks'  board-bill  comes  out  of  their 
wages.  I  don't  think  they'll  have  a  big  pay-day  in 
New  York:  the  natives  cleaned  out  the  forecastle  in 
their  absence,  and  they'll  have  to  draw  heavily  on 
my  slop-chest." 

"  That's  where  captains  have  the  best  of  it,"  said 
one  of  the  mates,  jocularly — and  presumptuously,  to 
judge  by  his  captain's  frown ;  "  we  hammer  'em 
round  and  wear  out  their  clothes,  and  it's  the  captain 
that  sells  'em  new  ones." 

"  Captain,"  said  the  grizzled  one,  who  had  been 
scanning  the  crew  intently,  "  I'd  pay  that  crew  off 
if  I  were  you;  you  ought  to  ha'  let  'em  run,  or 
worked  'em  out  and  saved  their  pay.  Look  at  'em — 
look  at  the  devils  in  their  eyes.  I  notice  your  mates 
seldom  turn  their  backs  on  'em.  I'd  get  rid  of  'em." 

"  What !  Just  when  we  have  them  under  control 
and  useful  ?  Oh,  no !  They  know  their  work  now, 
and  I'd  only  have  to  ship  a  crowd  of  beach-combers 
and  half-breeds  at  nearly  double  pay.  Besides,  gen- 
tlemen, we're  just  a  little  proud  of  this  crew.  They 
are  lake  sailors  from  Oswego,  a  little  port  on  Lake 
Ontario.  When  I  was  young  I  sailed  on  the  Lakes  a 
season  or  two  and  became  thoroughly  acquainted  with 
the  aggressive  self-respect  of  that  breed.  They 
would  rather  fight  than  eat.  Their  reputation  in  this 
regard  prevents  them  getting  berths  in  any  but  Os- 
wego vessels,  and  even  affects  the  policy  of  the  na- 
tion. There's  a  fort  at  Oswego,  and  whenever  a 
company  of  soldiers  anywhere  in  the  country  become 
unmanageable — when  their  officers  can't  control  them 
outside  th«  guard-house — the  War  Department  at 


"WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD"     23 

Washington  transfers  them  to  Oswego  for  the 
tutelage  they  will  get  from  the  sailors.  And  they 
get  it;  they  are  well-behaved,  well-licked  soldiers 
when  they  leave.  An  Oswego  sailor  loves  a  row.  He 
is  possessed  by  the  fighting  spirit  of  a  bulldog;  he 
inherits  it  with  his  Irish  sense  of  injury;  he  sucks  it 
in  with  his  mother's  milk,  and  drinks  it  in  with  his 
whisky;  and  when  no  enemies  are  near,  he  will  fight 
his  friends.  Pay  them  off?  Not  much.  I've  taken 
sixteen  of  those  devils  round  the  Horn,  and  I'll  take 
them  back.  I'm  proud  of  them.  Just  look  at  them," 
he  concluded  vivaciously,  as  he  waved  his  hand  at  his 
men ;  "  docile  and  obedient,  down  on  their  knees  with 
bibles  and  prayer-books." 

"  And  the  name  o'  the  Lord  on  their  lips,"  grunted 
the  adviser ;  "  but  not  in  prayer,  I'll  bet  you." 

"  Hardly,"  laughed  Captain  Benson.  "  Come  be- 
low, gentlemen ;  the  steward  is  ready." 

From  lack  of  facilities  the  mild-faced  and  smiling 
steward  could  not  serve  that  dinner  with  the  style 
which  it  deserved.  He  would  have  liked,  he  ex- 
plained, as  they  seated  themselves,  to  bring  it  on  in 
separate  courses;  but  one  and  all  disclaimed  such 
frivolity.  The  dinner  was  there,  and  that  was 
enough.  And  it  was  a  splendid  dinner.  In  front  of 
Captain  Benson,  at  the  head  of  the  table,  stood  a 
large  tureen  of  smoking  terrapin-stew;  next  to  that 
a  stuffed  and  baked  freshly  caught  fish;  and  waiting 
their  turn  in  the  center  of  the  spread,  a  couple  of 
brace  of  wild  geese  from  the  inland  lakes,  brown  and 
glistening,  oyster-dressed  and  savory.  Farther 
along  was  a  steaming  plum-pudding,  overhead  on  a 
swinging  tray  a  dozen  bottles  of  wine,  by  the  cap- 
tain's elbow  a  decanter  of  yellow  fluid,  and  before 


24.    "WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD" 

each  man's  plate  a  couple  of  glasses  of  different  size. 

"  We'll  start  off  with  an  appetizer,  gentlemen," 
said  the  host,  as  he  passed  the  decanter  to  his  neigh- 
bor. "  Here  is  some  of  the  best  Dutch  courage  ever 
distilled ;  try  it." 

The  decanter  went  around,  each  filling  his  glass 
and  holding  it  poised;  then,  when  all  were  supplied, 
they  drank  to  the  grizzled  old  captain's  toast :  "  A 
speedy  and  pleasant  passage  home  for  the  Almena, 
and  further  confusion  to  her  misguided  crew."  The 
captain  responded  gracefully,  and  began  serving  the 
stew,  which  the  steward  took  from  him  plate  by  plate, 
and  passed  around. 

But,  either  because  thirteen  men  had  sat  down  to 
that  table,  or  because  the  Fates  were  unusually 
freakish  that  day,  it  was  destined  that,  beyond  the 
initial  glass  of  whisky,  not  a  man  present  should  par- 
take of  Captain  Benson's  dinner.  On  deck  things 
had  been  happening,  and  just  as  the  host  had  filled 
the  last  plate  for  himself,  a  wet,  bedraggled,  dirty 
little  man,  his  tarry  clothing  splashed  with  the  slime 
of  the  deck,  his  eyes  flaming  green,  his  face  expanded 
to  a  smile  of  ferocity,  appeared  in  the  forward  door- 
way, holding  a  cocked  revolver  which  covered  them 
all.  Behind  him  in  the  passage  were  other  men, 
equally  unkempt,  their  eyes  wide  open  with  excite- 
ment and  anticipation. 

"Don't  ye  move,"  yelped  the  little  man,  "not  a 
man.  Keep  yer  hands  out  o'  yer  pockets.  Put  'em 
over  yer  heads.  That's  it.  You  too,  cappen." 

They  obeyed  him  (there  was  death  in  the  green 
eyes  and  smile),  all  but  one.  Captain  Benson  sprang 
to  his  feet,  with  a  hand  in  his  breast  pocket. 

"  You  scoundrels ! "  he  cried,  as  he  drew  forth  a 


"WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD"    25 

pistol.  "  Leave  this — "  The  speech  was  stopped 
by  a  report,  deafening  in  the  closed-up  space;  and 
Captain  Benson  fell  heavily,  his  pistol  rattling  on  the 
floor. 

"Hang  me  up,  will  ye?"  growled  another  voice 
through  the  smoke. 

In  the  after-door  were  more  men,  the  red-haired 
Seldom  Helward  in  the  van,  holding  a  smoking  pis- 
tol. "  Get  the  gun,  one  o'  you  fellows  over  there," 
he  called. 

A  man  stepped  in  and  picked  up  the  pistol,  which 
he  cocked. 

"  One  by  one,"  said  Seldom,  his  voice  rising  to  the 
pitch  and  timbre  of  a  trumpet-blast,  "  you  men  walk 
out  the  forward  companionway  with  your  hands  over 
your  heads.  Plug  them,  Sinful,  if  two  move  to- 
gether, and  shoot  to  kill." 

Taken  by  surprise,  the  guests,  resolute  men  though 
they  were,  obeyed  the  command.  As  each  rose  to  his 
feet,  he  was  first  relieved  of  a  bright  revolver,  which 
served  to  increase  the  moral  front  of  the  enemy,  then 
led  out  to  the  booby-hatch,  on  which  lay  a  newly 
broached  coil  of  hambro-line  and  pile  of  thole-pins 
from  the  boatswain's  locker.  Here  he  was  searched 
again  for  jack-knife  or  brass  knuckles,  bound  with 
the  hambro-line,  gagged  with  a  thole-pin,  and 
marched  forward,  past  the  prostrate  first  mate,  who 
lay  quiet  in  the  scuppers,  and  the  erect  but  agonized 
second  mate,  gagged  and  bound  to  the  fife-rail,  to 
the  port  forecastle,  where  he  was  locked  in  with  the 
Chinese  cook,  who,  similarly  treated,  had  preceded. 
The  mild-faced  steward,  weeping  now,  as  much  from 
professional  disappointment  as  from  stronger  emo- 
tion, was  questioned  sternly,  and  allowed  his  freedom 


26    "WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD" 

on  his  promise  not  to  "  sing  out "  or  make  trouble. 
Captain  Benson  was  examined,  his  injury  diagnosed 
as  brain-concussion,  from  the  glancing  bullet,  more 
or  less  serious,  and  dragged  out  to  the  scuppers, 
where  he  was  bound  beside  his  unconscious  first  officer. 
Then,  leaving  them  to  live  or  die  as  their  subcon- 
sciousness  determined,  the  sixteen  mutineers  sacrile- 
giously reentered  the  cabin  and  devoured  the  dinner. 
And  the  appetites  they  displayed — their  healthy, 
hilarious  enjoyment  of  the  good  things  on  the  table 
— so  affected  the  professional  sense  of  the  steward 
that  he  ceased  his  weeping,  and  even  smiled  as  he 
waited  on  them. 

When  you  have  cursed,  beaten,  and  kicked  a  slave 
for  five  months  it  is  always  advisable  to  watch  him 
for  a  few  seconds  after  you  administer  correction, 
to  give  him  time  to  realize  his  condition.  And  when 
you  have  carried  a  revolver  in  the  right-hand  trousers 
pocket  for  five  months  it  is  advisable  occasionally  to 
inspect  the  cloth  of  the  pocket  to  make  sure  that  it 
is  not  wearing  thin  from  the  chafe  of  the  muzzle. 
Mr.  Jackson  had  ignored  the  first  rule  of  conduct, 
Mr.  Becker  the  second.  Mr.  Jackson  had  kicked 
Sinful  Peck  once  too  often ;  but  not  knowing  that  it 
was  once  too  often,  had  immediately  turned  his  back, 
and  received  thereat  the  sharp  corner  of  a  bible  on 
his  bump  of  inhabitiveness,  which  bump  responded  in 
its  function;  for  Mr.  Jackson  showed  no  immediate 
desire  to  move  from  the  place  where  he  fell.  Be- 
yond binding,  he  received  no  further  attention  from 
the  men.  Mr.  Becker,  on  his  way  to  the  lazarette  in 
the  stern  for  a  bucket  of  sand  to  assist  in  the  holy- 
stoning, had  reached  the  head  of  the  poop  steps 
when  this  occurred;  and  turning  at  the  sound  of  his 


"WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD"    27 

superior's  fall,  had  bounded  to  the  main-deck  with- 
out touching  the  steps,  reaching  for  his  pistol  as  he 
landed,  only  to  pinion  his  fingers  in  a  large  hole  in 
the  pocket.  Wildly  he  struggled  to  reclaim  his 
weapon,  down  his  trouser  leg,  held  firmly  to  his  knee 
by  the  tight  rubber  boot;  but  he  could  not  reach  it. 
His  anxious  face  betrayed  his  predicament  to  the 
wakening  men,  and  when  he  looked  into  Mr.  Jackson's 
revolver,  held  by  Sinful  Peck,  he  submitted  to  being 
bound  to  the  fife-rail  and  gagged  with  the  end  of  the 
topgallant-sheet — a  large  rope,  which  just  filled  his 
mouth,  and  hurt.  Then  the  firearm  was  recovered, 
and  the  descent  upon  the  dinner-party  quickly 
planned  and  carried  out. 

Have  you  ever  seen  a  kennel  of  hunting-dogs  re- 
leased on  a  fine  day  after  long  confinement — how  they 
bark  and  yelp,  chasing  one  another,  biting  playfully, 
rolling  and  tumbling  over  and  over  in  sheer  joy  and 
healthy  appreciation  of  freedom?  Without  the  vocal 
expression  of  emotion,  the  conduct  of  these  men  after 
that  wine  dinner  was  very  similar  to  that  of  such 
emancipated  dogs.  They  waltzed,  boxed,  wrestled, 
threw  each  other  about  the  deck,  turned  handsprings 
and  cart-wheels, — those  not  too  weak, — buffeted, 
kicked,  and  clubbed  the  suffering  Mr.  Becker,  reviled 
and  cursed  the  unconscious  captain  and  chief  officer, 
and  when  tired  of  this,  as  children  and  dogs  of  play, 
they  turned  to  their  captives  for  amusement.  The 
second  mate  was  taken  from  the  fife-rail,  with  hands 
still  bound,  and  led  to  the  forecastle ;  the  gags  of  all 
and  the  bonds  of  the  cook  were  removed,  and  the 
forecastle  dinner  was  brought  from  the  galley.  This 
they  were  invited  to  eat.  There  was  a  piece  of  salt- 
beef,  boiled  a  little  longer  than  usual  on  account  of 


28    "WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD" 

the  delay ;  it  was  black,  brown,  green,  and  iridescent 
in  spots  ;  it  was  slippery  with  ptomaines,  filthy  to  the 
sight,  stinking,  and  nauseating.  There  were  pota- 
toes, two  years  old,  shriveled  before  boiling — hard 
and  soggy,  black,  blue,  and  bitter  after  the  process. 
And  there  was  the  usual  "  weevily  hardtack  "  in  the 
bread-barge. 

Protest  was  useless.  The  unhappy  captives  sur- 
rounded that  dinner  on  the  forecastle  floor  (  for  there 
was  neither  table  to  sit  at,  nor  chests,  stools,  or  boxes 
to  sit  on,  in  the  apartment),  and,  with  hands  behind 
their  backs  and  disgust  in  their  faces,  masticated  and 
swallowed  the  morsels  which  the  Chinese  cook  put  to 
their  mouths,  while  their  feelings  were  further  out- 
raged by  the  hilarity  of  the  men  at  their  backs,  and 
their  appetites  occasionally  jogged  into  activity  by 
the  impact  on  their  heads  of  a  tarry  fist  or  pistol- 
butt.  At  last  a  portly  captain  began  vomiting,  and 
this  being  contagious,  the  meal  ended;  for  even  the 
stomachs  of  the  sailors,  overcharged  as  they  were 
with  the  rich  food  and  wine  of  the  cabin  table,  were 
affected  by  the  spectacle. 

There  were  cool  heads  in  that  crowd  of  mutineers 
— men  who  thought  of  consequences :  Poop-deck  Ca- 
hill,  square-faced  and  resolute,  but  thoughtful  of  eye 
and  refined  of  speech ;  Seldom  Helward,  who  had  shot 
the  captain — a  man  whose  fiery  hair,  arching  eye- 
brows, Roman  nose,  and  explosive  language  indicated 
the  daredevil,  but  whose  intelligent  though  humorous 
eye  and  corrugated  forehead  gave  certain  signs  of 
repressive  study  and  thought;  and  Bigpig  Monahan, 
already  described.  These  three  men  went  into  session 
under  the  break  of  the  poop,  and  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  the  consul  who  had  jailed  them  for 


"WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD"     29 

nothing  would  hang  them  for  this ;  then,  calling  the 
rest  to  the  conference  as  a  committee  of  the  whole, 
they  outlined  and  put  to  vote  a  proposition  to  make 
sail  and  go  to  sea,  leaving  the  fate  of  their  captives 
for  later  consideration — which  was  adopted  unan- 
imously and  with  much  profanity,  the  central  thought 
of  the  latter  being  an  intention  to  "  make  'em  finish 
the  holystonin'  for  the  fun  they  had  laughin'  at  us." 
Then  Bigpig  Monahan  sneaked  below  and  induced  the 
steward  to  toss  through  the  storeroom  dead-light 
every  bottle  of  wine  and  liquor  which  the  ship  con- 
tained. "  For  Seldom  and  Poop-deck,"  he  said  to 
him,  "  are  the  only  men  in  the  gang  fit  to  pick  up 
navigation  and  git  this  ship  into  port  again ;  but  if 
they  git  their  fill  of  it,  it's  all  day  with  you,  steward." 
Six  second  mates  on  six  American  ships  watched 
curiously,  doubtingly,  and  at  last  anxiously,  as  sails 
were  dropped  and  yards  mastheaded  on  board  the 
Almena,  and  as  she  paid  off  from  the  mooring-buoy 
before  the  land  breeze  and  showed  them  her  stern, 
sent  six  dinghies,  which  gave  up  the  pursuit  in  a  few 
minutes  and  mustered  around  the  buoy,  where  a 
wastefully  slipped  shot  of  anchor-chain  gave  addi- 
tional evidence  that  all  was  not  right.  But  by  the 
time  the  matter  was  reported  to  the  authorities 
ashore,  the  Almena,  having  caught  the  newly  arrived 
southerly  wind  off  the  Peruvian  coast,  was  hull  down 
on  the  western  horizon. 

FOUR  days  later,  one  of  the  Almencfs  boats,  contain- 
ing twelve  men  with  sore  heads,  disfigured  faces,  and 
clothing  ruined  by  oily  wood-pulp, — ruined  particu- 
larly about  the  knees  of  their  trousers, — came  wear- 
ily into  the  roadstead  from  the  open  sea,  past  the 


80     « WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD" 

shipping  and  up  to  the  landing  at  the  custom-house 
docks.  From  here  the  twelve  proceeded  to  the 
American  consul  and  entered  bitter  complaint  of  in- 
human treatment  received  at  the  hands  of  sixteen 
mutinous  sailors  on  board  the  Almena — treatment  so 
cruel  that  they  had  welcomed  being  turned  adrift  in 
an  open  boat ;  whereat,  the  consul,  deploring  the 
absence  of  man-of-war  or  steamer  to  send  in  pursuit, 
took  their  individual  affidavits;  and  these  he  sent  to 
San  Francisco,  from  which  point  the  account  of  the 
crime,  described  as  piracy,  spread  to  every  newspa- 
per in  Christendom. 

PART  m 

A  NORTHEAST  gale  off  Hatteras :  immense  gray  comb- 
ers, five  to  the  mile,  charging,  shoreward,  occasion- 
ally breaking,  again  lifting  their  heads  too  high  in 
the  effort,  truncated  as  by  a  knife,  and  the  liquid 
apex  shattered  to  spray;  an  expanse  of  leaden  sky 
showing  between  the  rain-squalls,  across  which  heavy 
background  rushed  the  darker  scud  and  storm- 
clouds;  a  passenger-steamer  rolling  helplessly  in  the 
trough,  and  a  square-rigged  vessel,  hove  to  on  the 
port  tack,  two  miles  to  windward  of  the  steamer, 
and  drifting  south  toward  the  storm-center.  This  is 
the  picture  that  the  sea-birds  saw  at  daybreak  on  a 
September  morning,  and  could  the  sea-birds  have 
spoken  they  might  have  told  that  the  square-rigged 
craft  carried  a  navigator  who  had  learned  that  a 
whirling  fury  of  storm-center  was  less  to  be  feared 
than  the  deadly  Diamond  Shoals — the  outlying 
guard  of  Cape  Hatteras  toward  which  that  steamer 
was  drifting,  broadside  on. 


"WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD"     31 

Clad  in  yellow  oilskins  and  sou'wester,  he  stood  by 
the  after-companionway,  intently  examining  through 
a  pair  of  glasses  the  wallowing  steamer  to  leeward, 
barely  distinguishable  in  the  half-light  and  driving 
spindrift.  On  the  main-deck  a  half-dozen  men  paced 
up  and  down,  sheltered  by  the  weather  rail ;  forward, 
two  others  walked  the  deck  by  the  side  of  the  forward 
house,  but  never  allowed  their  march  to  extend  past 
the  after-corner;  and  at  the  wheel  stood  a  little  man 
who  sheltered  a  cheerful  face  under  the  lee  of  a  big 
coat-collar,  and  occasionally  peeped  out  at  the  navi- 
gator. 

"  Poop-deck,"  he  shouted  above  the  noise  of  the 
wind,  "  take  the  wheel  till  I  fire  up." 

"Thought  I  was  exempt  from  steering,"  growled 
the  other,  good-humoredly,  as  he  placed  the  glasses 
inside  the  companionway. 

"  You're  getting  too  fat  and  sassy ;  steer  a 
little." 

Poop-deck  relieved  the  little  man,  who  descended 
the  cabin  stairs,  and  returned  in  a  few  moments, 
smoking  a  short  pipe.  He  took  the  wheel,  and  Poop- 
deck  again  examined  the  steamer  with  the  glasses. 

"  There  goes  his  ensign,  union  down,"  he  ex- 
claimed ;  "  he's  in  trouble.  We'll  show  ours." 

From  a  flag-locker  inside  the  companionway  he 
drew  out  the  Stars  and  Stripes,  which  he  ran  up  to 
the  monkey-gaff.  Then  he  looked  again. 

"  Down  goes  his  ensign ;  up  goes  the  code  pennant. 
He  wants  to  signal.  Come  up  here,  boys,"  called 
Poop-deck ;  "  give  me  a  hand." 

As  the  six  men  climbed  the  steps,  he  pulled  out  the 
corresponding  code  signal  from  the  locker,  and  ran 
it  up  on  the  other  part  of  the  halyards  as  the  ensign 


32    "WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD" 

fluttered  down.  "  Go  down,  one  of  you,"  he  said, 
"  and  get  the  signal-book  and  shipping-list.  He'll 
show  his  number  next.  Get  ours  ready — R.  L.  F.  T." 

While  a  man  sprang  below  for  the  books  named, 
the  others  hooked  together  the  signal-flags  forming 
the  ship's  number,  and  Poop-deck  resumed  the 
glasses. 

"  Q.  T.  F.  N.,"  he  exclaimed.  "  Look  it  up." 

The  books  had  arrived,  and  while  one  lowered  and 
hoisted  again  the  code  signal,  which  was  also  the 
answering  pennant,  the  others  pored  over  the  ship- 
ping-list. 

"  Steamer  Aldebaran  of  New  York,"  they  said. 

The  pennant  came  down,  and  the  ship's  number 
went  up  to  the  gaff. 

"  H.  V.,"  called  Poop-deck,  as  he  scanned  two  flags 
now  flying  from  the  steamer's  truck.  "  What  does 
that  say?  " 

"  Damaged  rudder — cannot  steer,"  they  answered. 

"  Pull  down  the  number  and  show  the  answering 
pennant  again,"  said  Poop-deck ;  "  and  let  me  see 
that  signal-book."  He  turned  the  leaves,  studied  a 
page  for  a  moment,  then  said :  "  Run  up  H.  V.  R. 
That  says,  *  What  do  you  want?'  and  that's  the 
nearest  thing  to  it." 

These  flags  took  the  place  of  the  answering  pen- 
nant at  the  gaff-end,  and  again  Poop-deck  watched 
through  the  glasses,  noting  first  the  showing  of  the 
steamer's  answering  pennant,  then  the  letters 
K.  R.  N. 

"  What  does  K.  R.  N.  say?  "  he  asked. 

They  turned  the  leaves,  and  answered :  "  I  can  tow 
you." 

"  Tow  us?    We're  all  right;  we  don't  want  a  tow. 


"WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD"    8S 

He's  crazy.  How  can  he  tow  us  when  he  can't  steer  ?  " 
exclaimed  three  or  four  together. 

"He  wants  to  tow  us  so  that  he  can  steer,  you 
blasted  fools,"  said  Poop-deck.  "  He  can  keep  head 
to  sea  and  go  where  he  likes  with  a  big  drag  on  his 
stern." 

"That's  so.  Where's  he  bound — 'you  that  has 
knowledge  and  eddication  '?  " 

"Didn't  say;  but  he's  bound  for  the  Diamond 
Shoals,  and  he'll  fetch  up  in  three  hours,  if  we  can't 
help  him.  He's  close  in." 

"  Tow-line's  down  the  forepeak,"  said  a  man. 
"  Couldn't  get  it  up  in  an  hour,"  said  another.  "  Yes, 
we  can,"  said  a  third.  Then,  all  speaking  at  once, 
and  each  raising  his  voice  to  its  limit,  they  argued 
excitedly:  "  Can't  be  done."  "Coil  it  on  the  fore- 
castle." "  Yes,  we  can."  "  Too  much  sea."  "  Run 
down  to  wind'ard."  "  Line'ud  part,  anyhow." 
"Float  a  barrel."  "Shut  up."  "I  tell  you,  we 
can."  "Call  the  watch."  "Seldom,  yer  daft." 
"  Needn't  get  a  boat  over."  "  Hell  ye  can."  "  Call 
the  boys."  "  All  hands  with  heavin'-lines."  "  Can't 
back  a  topsail  in  this."  "  Go  lay  down."  "  Soak  yer 
head,  Seldom."  "  Hush."  "  Shut  up."  "  Nothin' 
you  can't  do."  "  Go  to  the  devil."  "  I  tell  you,  we 
can ;  do  as  I  say,  and  we'll  get  a  line  to  him,  or  get 
his." 

The  affirmative  speaker,  who  had  also  uttered  the 
last  declaration,  was  Seldom  Helward.  "  Put  me  in 
command,"  he  yelled  excitedly,  "  and  do  what  I  tell 
you,  and  we'll  make  fast  to  him." 

"  No  captains  here,"  growled  one,  while  the  rest 
eyed  Seldom  reprovingly. 

"  Well,  there  ought  to  be;  you're  all  rattled,  and 


34-    "WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD" 

don't  know  any  more  than  to  let  thousands  o'  dollars 
slip  past  you.  There's  salvage  down  to  looward." 

"  Salvage?  " 

"  Yes,  salvage.  Big  boat — full  o'  passengers  and 
valuable  cargo — shoals  to  looward  of  him — can't 
steer.  You  poor  fools,  what  ails  you?  " 

"  Foller  Seldom,"  vociferated  the  little  man  at  the 
wheel ;  "  foller  Seldom,  and  ye'll  wear  stripes." 

"  Dry  up,  Sinful.  Call  the  watch.  It's  near  seven 
bells,  anyhow.  Let's  hear  what  the  rest  say.  Strike 
the  bell." 

The  uproarious  howl  with  which  sailors  call  the 
watch  below  was  delivered  down  the  cabin  stairs,  and 
soon  eight  other  men  came  up,  rubbing  their  eyes 
and  grumbling  at  the  premature  wakening,  while 
another  man  came  out  of  the  forecastle  and  joined 
the  two  pacing  the  forward  deck.  Seldom  Helward's 
proposition  was  discussed  noisily  in  joint  session  on 
the  poop,  and  finally  accepted. 

"  We  put  you  in  charge,  Seldom,  against  the  rule," 
said  Bigpig  Monahan,  sternly,  "  'cause  we  think 
you've  some  good  scheme  in  your  head;  but  if  you 
haven't, — if  you  make  a  mess  of  things  just  to  have 
a  little  fun  bossin'  us, — you'll  hear  from  us.  Go 
ahead,  now.  You're  captain." 

Seldom  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  afterhouse, 
looked  to  windward,  then  to  leeward  at  the  rolling 
steamer,  and  called  out: 

"  I  want  more  beef  at  the  wheel.  Bigpig,  take  it ; 
and  you,  Turkey,  stand  by  with  him.  Get  away  from 
there,  Sinful.  Give  her  the  upper  maintopsail,  the 
rest  of  you.  Poop-deck,  you  stand  by  the  signal- 
halyards.  Ask  him  if  he's  got  a  tow-line  ready." 

Protesting  angrily  at  the  slight  put  upon  him, 


"WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD"     35 

Sinful  Peck  relinquished  the  wheel,  and  joined  the 
rest  on  the  main-deck,  where  they  had  hurried.  Two 
men  went  aloft  to  loose  the  topsail,  and  the  rest 
cleared  away  gear,  while  Poop-deck  examined  the 
signal-book. 

"  K.  S.  G.  says,  *  Have  a  tow-line  ready.'  That 
ought  to  do,  Seldom,"  he  called. 

"  Run  it  up,"  ordered  the  newly  installed  captain, 
"  and  watch  his  answer."  Up  went  the  signal,  and 
as  the  men  on  the  main-deck  were  manning  the  top- 
sail-halyards, Poop-deck  made  out  the  answer: 
"  V.  K.  C." 

"  That  means,  *  All  right,'  Seldom,"  he  said,  after 
inspecting  the  book. 

"  Good  enough ;  but  we'll  get  our  line  ready,  too. 
Get  down  and  help  'em  masthead  the  yard  first,  then 
take  'em  forrard  and  coil  the  tow-line  abaft  the  wind- 
lass. Get  all  the  heavin'-lines  ready,  too." 

Poop-deck  obeyed ;  and  while  the  maintopsail-yard 
slowly  arose  to  place  under  the  efforts  of  the  rest, 
Seldom  himself  ran  up  the  answering  pennant,  and 
then  the  repetition  of  the  steamer's  last  message: 
"All  right."  This  was  the  final  signal  displayed 
between  the  two  craft.  Both  signal-flags  were  low- 
ered, and  for  a  half-hour  Seldom  waited,  until  the 
others  had  lifted  a  nine-inch  hawser  from  the  fore- 
peak  and  coiled  it  down.  Then  came  his  next  orders 
in  a  continuous  roar: 

"Three  hands  aft  to  the  spanker-sheet!  Stand 
by  to  slack  off  and  haul  in!  Man  the  braces  for 
wearing  ship,  the  rest  o'  you!  Hard  up  the  wheel! 
Check  in  port  main  and  starboard  cro'-jack  braces! 
Shiver  the  topsail !  Slack  off  that  spanker !  " 

Before  he  had  finished  the  men  had  reached  their 


36    "WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD" 

posts.  The  orders  were  obeyed.  The  ship  paid  off, 
staggered  a  little  in  the  trough  under  the  right-angle 
pressure  of  the  gale,  swung  still  farther,  and  steadied 
down  to  a  long,  rolling  motion,  dead  before  the  wind, 
heading  for  the  steamer.  Yards  were  squared  in,  the 
spanker  hauled  aft,  staysail  trimmed  to  port,  and  all 
hands  waited  while  the  ship  charged  down  the  two 
miles  of  intervening  sea. 

"  Handles  like  a  yacht,"  muttered  Seldom,  as,  with 
brow  wrinkled  and  keen  eye  flashing  above  his  hooked 
nose,  he  conned  the  steering  from  his  place  near  the 
mizzenmast. 

Three  men  separated  themselves  from  the  rest  and 
came  aft.  They  were  those  who  had  walked  the  for- 
ward deck.  One  was  tall,  broad-shouldered,  and 
smooth-shaven,  with  a  palpable  limp ;  another,  short, 
broad,  and  hairy,  showed  a  lamentable  absence  of 
front  teeth;  and  the  third,  a  blue-eyed  man,  slight 
and  graceful  of  movement,  carried  his  arm  in  splints 
and  sling.  This  last  was  in  the  van  as  they  climbed 
the  poop  steps. 

"  I  wish  to  protest,"  he  said.  "  I  am  captain  of 
this  ship  under  the  law.  I  protest  against  this  in- 
sanity. No  boat  can  live  in  this  sea.  No  help  can 
be  given  that  steamer." 

"  And  I  bear  witness  to  the  protest,"  said  the  tall 
man.  The  short,  hairy  man  might  have  spoken  also, 
but  had  no  time. 

"  Get  off  the  poop,"  yelled  Seldom.  "  Go  forrard, 
where  you  belong."  He  stood  close  to  the  bucket- 
rack  around  the  skylight.  Seizing  bucket  after 
bucket,  he  launched  them  at  his  visitors,  with  the  re- 
sult that  the  big  man  was  tumbled  down  the  poop 
steps  head  first,  while  the  other  two  followed,  right 


"WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD"     87 

side  up,  but  hurriedly,  and  bearing  some  sore  spots. 
Then  the  rest  of  the  men  set  upon  them,  much  as  a 
pack  of  dogs  would  worry  strange  cats,  and  kicked 
and  buffeted  them  forward. 

There  was  no  time  for  much  amusement  of  this 
sort.  Yards  were  braced  to  port,  for  the  ship  was 
careering  down  toward  the  steamer  at  a  ten-knot 
rate;  and  soon  black  dots  on  her  rail  resolved  into 
passengers  waving  hats  and  handkerchiefs,  and  black 
dots  on  the  boat  deck  resolved  into  sailors  standing 
by  the  end  of  a  hawser  which  led  up  from  the  bitts 
below  on  the  fantail.  And  the  ship  came  down,  until 
it  might  have  seemed  that  Seldom's  intention  was  to 
ram  her.  But  not  so ;  when  a  scant  two  lengths 
separated  the  two  craft,  he  called  out :  "  Hard  down ! 
Light  up  the  staysail-sheet  and  stand  by  the  fore- 
braces  ! " 

Around  the  ship  came  on  the  crest  of  a  sea;  she 
sank  into  the  hollow  behind,  shipped  a  few  dozen  tons 
of  water  from  the  next  comber,  and  then  lay  fairly 
steady,  with  her  bow  meeting  the  seas,  and  the  huge 
steamer  not  a  half-length  away  on  the  lee  quarter. 
The  foretopmast-staysail  was  flattened,  and  Seldom 
closely  scrutinized  the  drift  and  heave  of  the  ship. 

"  How's  your  wheel,  Bigpig?  "  he  asked. 

"  Hard  down." 

"  Put  it  up  a  little ;  keep  her  in  the  trough." 

He  noted  the  effect  on  the  ship  of"  this  change; 
then,  as  though  satisfied,  roared  out :  "  Let  your 
forebraces  hang,  forrard  there!  Stand  by  heavin'- 
lines  fore  and  aft!  Stand  by  to  go  ahead  with  that 
steamer  when  we  have  your  line !  "  The  last  injunc- 
tion, delivered  through  his  hands,  went  down  the 
wind  like  a  thunder-clap,  and  the  officers  on  the 

429058 


38    "WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD" 

steamer's  bridge,  vainly  trying  to  make  themselves 
heard  against  the  gale  in  the  same  manner,  started 
perceptibly  at  the  impact  of  sound,  and  one  went  to 
the  engine-room  speaking  tube. 

Breast  to  breast  the  two  vessels  lifted  and  fell. 
At  times  it  seemed  that  the  ship  was  to  be  dropped 
bodily  on  the  deck  of  the  steamer;  at  others,  her 
crew  looked  up  a  streaked  slope  of  a  hundred  feet  to 
where  the  other  craft  was  poised  at  the  crest.  Then 
the  steamer  would  drop,  and  the  next  sea  would  heave 
the  ship  toward  her.  But  it  was  noticeable  that  every 
bound  brought  her  nearer  to  the  steamer,  and  also 
farther  ahead,  for  her  sails  were  doing  their 
work. 

"  Kick  ahead  on  board  the  steamer ! "  thundered 
Seldom  from  his  eminence.  "  Go  ahead !  Start  the 
wagon,  or  say  your  prayers,  you  blasted  idiots !  " 

The  engines  were  already  turning ;  but  it  takes 
time  to  overcome  three  thousand  tons  of  inertia,  and 
before  the  steamer  had  forged  ahead  six  feet  the 
ship  had  lifted  above  her,  and  descended  her  black 
side  with  a  grinding  crash  of  wood  against  iron. 
Fore  and  main  channels  on  the  ship  were  carried 
away,  leaving  all  lee  rigging  slack  and  useless ;  lower 
braces  caught  in  the  steamer's  davit-cleats  and 
snapped,  but  the  sails,  held  by  the  weather  braces, 
remained  full,  and  the  yards  did  not  swing.  The  two 
craft  separated  with  a  roll  and  came  together  again 
with  more  scraping  and  snapping  of  rigging.  Pas- 
sengers left  the  rail,  dived  indoors,  and  took  refuge 
on  the  opposite  side,  where  falling  blocks  and  small 
spars  might  not  reach  them.  Another  leap  toward 
the  steamer  resulted  in  the  ship's  maintopgallant- 
mast  falling  in  a  zigzag  whirl,  as  the  snapping  gear 


"WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD"     39 

aloft  impeded  it ;  and  dropping  athwart  the  steamer's 
funnel,  it  neatly  sent  the  royalyard  with  sail  attached 
down  the  iron  cylinder,  where  it  soon  blazed  and 
helped  the  artificial  draft  in  the  stoke-hold.  Next 
came  the  foretopgallantmast,  which  smashed  a  couple 
of  boats.  Then,  as  the  round  black  stern  of  the 
steamer  scraped  the  lee  bow  of  the  ship,  jib-guys 
parted,  and  the  jib-boom  itself  went,  snapping  at 
the  bowsprit-cap,  with  the  last  bite  the  ship  made  at 
the  steamer  she  was  helping.  But  all  through  this 
riot  of  destruction — while  passengers  screamed  and 
prayed,  while  officers  on  the  steamer  shouted  and 
swore,  and  Seldom  Helward,  bellowing  insanely, 
danced  up  and  down  on  the  ship's  house,  and  the  hail 
of  wood  and  iron  from  aloft  threatened  their  heads 
— men  were  passing  the  tow-line. 

It  was  a  three-inch  steel  hawser  with  a  Manila  tail, 
which  they  had  taken  to  the  foretopsail-sheet  bitts 
before  the  jib-boom  had  gone.  Panting  from  their 
exertions,  they  watched  it  lift  from  the  water  as  the 
steamer  ahead  paid  out  with  a  taut  strain;  then, 
though  the  crippled  spars  were  in  danger  of  falling 
and  really  needed  their  first  attention,  they  ignored 
the  fact  and  hurried  aft,  as  one  man,  to  attend  to 
Seldom. 

Encouraged  by  the  objurgations  of  Bigpig  and 
his  assistant,  who  were  steering  now  after  the 
steamer,  they  called  their  late  commander  down  from 
the  house  and  deposed  him  in  a  concert  of  profane 
ridicule  and  abuse,  to  which  he  replied  in  kind.  He 
was  struck  in  the  face  by  the  small  fist  of  Sinful  Peck, 
and  immediately  knocked  the  little  man  down.  Then 
he  was  knocked  down  himself  by  a  larger  fist,  and, 
fighting  bravely  and  viciously,  became  the  object  of 


40     "WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD" 

fist-blows  and  kicks,  until,  in  one  of  his  whirling 
staggers  along  the  deck,  he  passed  close  to  the  short, 
broad,  hairy  man,  who  yielded  to  the  excitement  of 
the  moment  and  added  a  blow  to  Seldom's  punish- 
ment. It  was  an  unfortunate  mistake;  for  he  took 
Seldom's  place,  and  the  rain  of  fists  and  boots  de- 
scended on  him  until  he  fell  unconscious.  Mr.  Hel- 
ward  himself  delivered  the  last  quieting  blow,  and 
then  stood  over  him  with  a  lurid  grin  on  his  bleeding 
face. 

"  Got  to  put  down  mutiny  though  the  heavens 
fall,"  he  said  painfully. 

"  Right  you  are,  Seldom,"  answered  one.  "  Here, 
Jackson,  Benson — drag  him  forrard;  and,  Seldom," 
he  added,  reprovingly,  "  don't  you  ever  try  it  again. 
Want  to  be  captain,  hey  ?  You  can't ;  you  don't  know 
enough.  You  couldn't  command  my  wheelbarrow. 
Here's  three  days'  work  to  clear  up  the  muss  you've 
made." 

But  in  this  they  spoke  more,  and  less,  than  the 
truth.  The  steamer,  going  slowly,  and  steering  with 
a  bridle  from  the  tow-line  to  each  quarter,  kept  the 
ship's  canvas  full  until  her  crew  had  steadied  the 
yards  and  furled  it.  They  would  then  have  rigged 
preventer-stays  and  shrouds  on  their  shaky  spars, 
had  there  been  time ;  but  there  was  not.  An  uncanny 
appearance  of  the  sea  to  leward  indicated  too  close 
proximity  to  the  shoals,  while  a  blackening  of  the 
sky  to  windward  told  of  probable  increase  of  wind 
and  sea.  And  the  steamer  waited  no  longer.  With 
a  preliminary  blast  of  her  whistle,  she  hung  the 
weight  of  the  ship  on  the  starboard  bridle,  gave  power 
to  her  engines,  and  rounded  to,  very  slowly,  head  to 
sea,  while  the  men  on  the  ship,  who  had  been  carrying 


" WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD"     41 

the  end  of  the  coiled  hawser  up  the  foretopmast 
rigging,  dropped  it  and  came  down  hurriedly. 

Released  from  the  wind-pressure  on  her  strong 
side,  which  had  somewhat  steadied  her,  the  ship  now 
rolled  more  than  she  had  done  in  the  trough,  and 
with  every  starboard  roll  were  ominous  creakings  and 
grindings  aloft.  At  last  came  a  heavier  lurch,  and 
both  crippled  topmasts  fell,  taking  with  them  the 
mizzentopgallantmast.  Luckily,  no  one  was  hurt, 
and  they  disgustedly  cut  the  wreck  adrift,  stayed  the 
fore-  and  mainmasts  with  the  hawser,  and  resigning 
themselves  to  a  large  subtraction  from  their  salvage, 
went  to  a  late  breakfast — a  savory  meal  of  smoking 
fried  ham  and  potatoes,  hot  cakes  and  coffee,  served 
to  sixteen  in  the  cabin,  and  an  unsavory  meal  of 
"  hardtack-hash,"  with  an  infusion  of  burnt  bread- 
crust,  pease,  beans,  and  leather,  handed,  but  not 
served,  to  three  in  the  forecastle. 

Three  days  later,  with  Sandy  Hook  lighthouse 
showing  through  the  haze  ahead,  and  nothing  left 
of  the  gale  but  a  rolling  ground-swell,  the  steamer 
slowed  down  so  that  a  pilot-boat's  dinghy  could  put 
a  man  aboard  each  craft.  And  the  one  who  climbed 
the  ship's  side  was  the  pilot  that  had  taken  her  to 
sea,  outward  bound,  and  sympathized  with  her  crew. 
They  surrounded  him  on  the  poop  and  asked  for 
news,  while  the  three  men  forward  looked  aft  hun- 
grily, as  though  they  would  have  joined  the  meeting, 
but  dared  not.  Instead  of  giving  news,  the  pilot 
asked  questions,  which  they  answered. 

"I  knew  you'd  taken  charge,  boys,"  he  said  at 
length.  "  The  whole  world  knows  it,  and  every 
man-of-war  on  the  Pacific  stations  has  been  looking 
for  you.  But  they're  only  looking  out  there.  What 


42     "WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD" 

brings  you  round  here,  dismasted,  towing  into  New 
York?" 

"  That's  where  the  ship's  bound— New  York.  We 
took  her  out ;  we  bring  her  home.  We  don't  want 
her — don't  belong  to  us.  We're  law-abidin'  men." 

"  Law-abiding  men  ?  "  asked  the  amazed  pilot. 

"  You  bet.  We're  goin'  to  prosecute  those  dogs  of 
ours  forrard  there  to  the  last  limit  o'  the  law.  We'll 
show  'em  they  can't  starve  and  hammer  and  shoot 
free-born  Americans  just  'cause  they've  got  guns  in 
their  pockets." 

The  pilot  looked  forward,  nodded  to  one  of  the 
three,  who  beckoned  to  him,  and  asked : 

"Who'd  you  elect  captain?  " 

"Nobody,"  they  roared.  "We  had  enough  o» 
captains.  This  ship's  an  unlimited  democracy — 
everybody  just  as  good  as  the  next  man;  that  is,  all 
but  the  dogs.  They  sleep  on  the  bunk-boards,  do  as 
they're  told,  and  eat  salt  mule  and  dunderfunk — • 
same  as  we  did  goin'  out." 

"  Did  they  navigate  for  you?  Did  no  one  have 
charge  of  things  ?  " 

"  Poop-deck  picked  up  navigation,  and  we  let  him 
off  steerin'  and  standin'  lookout.  Then  Seldom,  here, 
he  wanted  to  be  captain  just  once,  and  we  let  him — • 
well,  look  at  our  spars." 

"Poop-deck?  Which  is  Poop-deck?  Do  you 
mean  to  say,"  asked  the  pilot  when  the  navigator  had 
been  indicated  to  him,  "  that  you  brought  this  ship 
home  on  picked-up  navigation  ?  " 

"  Didn't  know  anything  about  it  when  we  left 
Callao,"  answered  the  sailor,  modestly.  "  The 
steward  knew  enough  to  wind  the  chronometer  until  I 
learned  how.  We  made  an  offing  and  steered  due 


"WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD"     43 

south,  while  I  studied  the  books  and  charts.  It  didn't 
take  me  long  to  learn  how  to  take  the  sun.  Then  we 
blundered  round  the  Horn  somehow,  and  before  long 
I  could  take  chronometer  sights  for  the  longitude. 
Of  course  I  know  we  went  out  in  four  months  and 
used  up  five  to  get  back;  but  a  man  can't  learn  the 
whole  thing  in  one  passage.  We  lost  some  time,  too, 
chasing  other  ships  and  buying  stores;  the  cabin 
grub  gave  out." 

"  You  bought,  I  suppose,  with  Captain  Benson's 
money." 

"  S'pose  it  was  his.  We  found  it  in  his  desk.  But 
we've  kept  account  of  every  cent  expended,  and 
bought  no  grub  too  good  for  a  white  man  to  eat." 

"What  dismasted  you?" 

They  explained  the  meeting  with  the  steamer  and 
Seldom's  misdoing;  then  requested  information  about 
the  salvage  laws. 

"  Boys,"  said  the  pilot,  "  I'm  sorry  for  you.  I 
saw  the  start  of  this  voyage,  and  you  appear  to  be 
decent  men.  You'll  get  no  salvage;  you'll  get  no 
wages.  You  are  mutineers  and  pirates,  with  no  stand- 
ing in  court.  Any  salvage  which  the  Almena  has 
earned  will  be  paid  to  her  owners  and  to  the  three  men 
whom  you  deprived  of  command.  What  you  can 
get — the  maximum,  though  I  can't  say  how  hard  the 
judge  will  lay  it  on — is  ten  years  in  state's  prison, 
and  a  fine  of  two  thousand  dollars  each.  We'll  have 
to  stop  at  quarantine.  Take  my  advice :  if  you  get  a 
chance,  lower  the  boats  and  skip." 

They  laughed  at  the  advice.  They  were  American 
citizens  who  respected  the  law.  They  had  killed  no 
one,  robbed  no  one;  their  wages  and  salvage,  inde- 
pendently of  insurance  liabilities,  would  pay  for  the 


44     "WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD" 

stores  bought,  and  the  loss  of  the  spars.  They  had 
no  fear  of  any  court  of  justice  in  the  land;  for  they 
had  only  asserted  their  manhood  and  repressed  in- 
human brutality. 

The  pilot  went  forward,  talked  awhile  with  the 
three,  and  left  them  with  joyous  faces.  An  hour 
later  he  pointed  out  the  Almena's  number  flying  from 
the  masthead  of  the  steamer. 

"  He's  telling  on  you,  boys,"  he  said.  "  He  knew 
you  when  you  helped  him,  and  used  you,  of  course. 
Your  reputation's  pretty  bad  on  the  high  seas.  See 
that  signal-station  ashore  there?  Well,  they're  tele- 
graphing now  that  the  pirate  Almena  is  coming  in. 
You'll  see  a  police  boat  at  quarantine." 

He  was  but  partly  right.  Not  only  a  police  boat, 
but  an  outward-bound  man-of-war  and  an  incoming 
revenue  cutter  escorted  the  ship  to  quarantine,  where 
the  tow-line  was  cast  off,  and  an  anchor  dropped. 
Then,  in  the  persons  of  a  scandalized  health-officer, 
a  naval  captain,  a  revenue-marine  lieutenant,  and  a 
purple-faced  sergeant  of  the  steamboat  squad,  the 
power  of  the  law  was  rehabilitated  on  the  Almena? 's 
quarter-deck,  and  the  strong  hand  of  the  law  closed 
down  on  her  unruly  crew.  With  blank  faces,  they 
discarded — to  shirts,  trousers,  and  boots — the  slop- 
chest  clothing  which  belonged  to  the  triumphant 
Captain  Benson,  and  descended  the  side  to  the  police 
boat,  which  immediately  steamed  away.  Then  a 
chuckling  trio  entered  the  ship's  cabin,  and  ordered 
the  steward  to  bring  them  something  to  eat. 

Now,  there  is  no  record  either  in  the  reports  for  that 
year  of  the  police  department,  or  from  any  official 
babbling,  or  from  later  yarns  spun  by  the  sixteen 


"WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD"     45 

prisoners,  of  what  really  occurred  on  the  deck  of  that 
steamer  while  she  was  going  up  the  bay.  Newspapers 
of  the  time  gave  generous  space  to  speculations  writ- 
ten up  on  the  facts  discovered  by  reporters ;  but 
nothing  was  ever  proved.  The  facts  were  few.  A 
tug  met  the  steamer  in  the  Narrows  about  a  quarter 
to  twelve  that  morning,  and  her  captain,  on  being 
questioned,  declared  that  all  seemed  well  with 
her.  The  prisoners  were  grouped  forward,  guarded 
by  eight  officers  and  a  sergeant.  A  little  after 
twelve  o'clock  a  Battery  boatman  observed  her 
coming,  and  hied  him  around  to  the  police  dock  to 
have  a  look  at  the  murderous  pirates  he  had  heard 
about,  only  to  see  her  heading  up  the  North  River, 
past  the  Battery.  A  watchman  on  the  elevator  docks 
at  Sixty-third  Street  observed  her  charging  up  the 
river  a  little  later  in  the  afternoon,  wondered  why, 
and  spoke  of  it.  The  captain  of  the  Mary  Powell, 
bound  up,  reported  catching  her  abreast  of  Yonkers. 
He  had  whistled  as  he  passed,  and  though  no  one  was 
in  sight,  the  salute  was  politely  answered.  At  some 
time  during  the  night,  residents  of  Sing  Sing  were 
wakened  by  a  sound  of  steam  blowing  off  somewhere 
on  the  river;  and  in  the  morning  a  couple  of  fisher- 
men, going  out  to  their  pond-nets  in  the  early  dawn, 
found  the  police  boat  grounded  on  the  shoals.  On 
boarding  her  they  had  released  a  pinioned,  gagged, 
and  hungry  captain  in  the  pilot-house,  and  an  engi- 
neer, fireman,  and  two  deck-hands,  similarly  limited, 
in  the  lamp-room.  Hearing  noises  from  below,  they 
pried  open  the  nailed  doors  of  the  dining-room  stair- 
case, and  liberated  a  purple-faced  sergeant  and  eight 
furious  officers,  who  chased  their  deliverers  into  their 
skiff,  and  spoke  sternly  to  the  working-force. 


46     "WHERE  ANGELS  FEAR  TO  TREAD* 

Among  the  theories  advanced  was  one,  by  the 
editor  of  a  paper  in  a  small  Lake  Ontario  town,  to 
the  effect  that  it  made  little  difference  to  an  Oswego 
sailor  whether  he  shipped  as  captain,  mate,  engineer, 
sailor,  or  fireman,  and  that  the  officers  of  the  New 
York  Harbor  Patrol  had  only  under-estimated  the 
caliber  of  the  men  in  their  charge,  leaving  them  un- 
guarded while  they  went  to  dinner.  But  his  paper 
and  town  were  small  and  far  away,  he  could  not  pos- 
sibly know  anything  of  the  subject,  and  his  opinion 
obtained  little  credence. 

Years  later,  however,  he  attended,  as  guest,  a 
meeting  and  dinner  of  the  Shipmasters'  and  Pilots' 
Association  of  Cleveland,  Ohio,  when  a  resolution 
was  adopted  to  petition  the  city  for  a  harbor  police 
service.  Captain  Monahan,  Captain  Helward,  Cap- 
tain Peck,  and  Captain  Cahill,  having  spoken  and 
voted  in  the  negative,  left  their  seats  on  the  adoption 
of  the  proposition,  reached  a  clear  spot  on  the  floor, 
shook  hands  silently,  and  then,  forming  a  ring, 
danced  around  in  a  circle  (the  tails  of  their  coats 
standing  out  in  horizontal  rigidity)  until  reproved 
by  the  chair. 

And  the  editor  knew  why. 


THE  BRAIN  OF  THE  BATTLE-SHIP 

BUILD  an  inverted  Harvey-steel  box  about  eight 
feet  high,  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  long,  half 
as  wide,  with  walls  of  eighteen-inch  thickness,  and  a 
roof  of  three,  and  you  have  strong  protection  against 
shot  and  shell.  Build  up  from  the  ends  of  the  box 
two  steel  barbettes  with  revolving  turrets  as  heavy  as 
your  side-walls ;  place  in  each  a  pair  of  thirteen-inch 
rifles;  flank  these  turrets  with  four  others  of  eight- 
inch  wall,  each  holding  two  eight-inch  guns;  these 
again  with  four  smaller,  containing  four  six-inch 
guns,  and  you  have  power  of  offense  nearly  equal  to 
your  protection.  Loosely  speaking,  a  modern  gun- 
projectile  will,  at  short  range,  pierce  steel  equal  to 
itself  in  cross-section,  and  from  an  elevated  muzzle 
will  travel  as  many  miles  as  this  cross-section  meas- 
ures in  inches.  Placed  upon  an  outlying  shoal,  this 
box  with  its  guns  would  make  an  efficient  fortress, 
but  would  lack  the  advantage  of  being  able  to  move 
and  choose  position. 

Build  underneath  and  each  way  from  the  ends  of 
the  box  a  cellular  hull  to  float  it ;  place  within  it,  and 
below  the  box,  magazines,  boilers,  and  engines ;  con- 
struct above,  between  the  turrets,  a  lighter  super- 
structure to  hold  additional  quick-fire  guns  and  tor- 
pedo-tubes ;  cap  the  whole  with  a  military  mast  sup- 
porting fighting-tops,  and  containing  an  armored 
conning-tower  in  its  base;  man  and  equip,  provision 
and  coal  the  fabric,  and  you  can  go  to  sea,  confident 
of  your  ability  to  destroy  everything  that  floats, 
except  icebergs  and  other  battle-ships. 
47 


48     THE  BRAIN  OF  THE  BATTLE-SHIP 

Of  these  essentials  was  the  first-class  coast-defense 
battle-ship  Argyll.  She  was  of  ten  thousand  tons' 
displacement,  and  was  propelled  by  twin  screws  which 
received  ten  thousand  horse-power  from  twin  engines 
placed  below  the  water-line.  Three  long  tubes — one 
fixed  in  the  stem,  two  movable  in  the  superstructure 
— could  launch  Whitehead  torpedoes, — mechanical 
fish  carrying  two  hundred  and  twenty  pounds  of  gun- 
cotton  in  their  heads, — which  sought  in  the  water  a 
twenty-foot  depth,  and  hurried  where  pointed  at  a 
thirty-knot  rate  of  speed.  Their  impact  below  the 
water-line  was  deadly,  and  only  equaled  in  effect  by 
the  work  of  the  ram-bow,  the  blow  of  the  ship  as  a 
whole — the  last  glorious,  suicidal  charge  on  an  enemy 
that  had  dismounted  the  guns,  if  such  could  happen. 

Besides  her  thirteen-,  eight-,  and  six-inch  guns, 
she  carried  a  secondary  quick-fire  battery  of  twenty 
six-pounders,  four  one-pounders,  and  four  Gatling 
guns  distributed  about  the  superstructure  and  in  the 
fighting-tops.  The  peculiar  efficacy  of  this  battery 
lay  in  its  menace  to  threatening  torpedo-boats,  and 
its  hostility  to  range-finders,  big-gun  sights,  and  op- 
posing gunners.  A  torpedo-boat,  receiving  the  full 
attention  of  her  quick-fire  battery,  could  be  disin' 
tegrated  and  sunk  in  a  yeasty  froth  raised  by  the 
rain  of  projectiles  long  before  she  could  come  within 
range  of  torpedo  action ;  while  a  simultaneous  dis- 
charge of  all  guns  would  distribute  over  seven  thou- 
sand pounds  of  metal  with  foot-tons  of  energy  suffi- 
cient to  lift  the  ship  herself  high  out  of  water. 
Bristling,  glistening,  and  massive,  a  reservoir  of 
death  potential,  a  center  of  radiant  destruction,  a 
spitting,  chattering,  thundering  epitome  of  racial 
hatred,  she  bore  within  her  steel  walls  the  ever-grow- 


THE  BRAIN  OF  THE  BATTLE-SHIP     49 

ing  burden  of  progressive  human  thought.  She  was 
a  maker  of  history,  a  changer  of  boundaries,  a  friend 
of  young  governments ;  and  it  chanced  that  on  a 
fine  tropical  morning,  in  company  with  three  armored 
cruisers,  four  protected  cruisers,  and  a  fleet  of  tor- 
pedo-boats and  destroyers,  she  went  into  action. 

She  was  stripped  to  bare  steel  and  signal-halyards. 
Davits,  anchors,  and  cables  were  stowed  and  secured. 
Ladders,  gratings,  stanchions,  and  all  movable  deck- 
fittings  were  below  the  water-line.  Wooden  bulk- 
heads, productive  of  splinters,  were  knocked  down 
and  discarded,  while  all  boats,  with  the  plugs  out, 
were  overboard,  riding  to  a  sea-anchor  made  up  of 
oars  and  small  spars. 

The  crew  was  at  quarters.  Below,  in  the  maga- 
zine, handling-rooms,  stoke-holds,  and  bunkers,  bare- 
waisted  men  worked  and  waited  in  stifling  heat ;  for 
she  was  under  forced  draft,  and  compartments  were 
closed,  even  though  the  enemy  was  still  five  miles 
away.  The  chief  and  his  first  assistant  engineer 
watched  the  main  engines  in  their  twin  compartments, 
while  the  subordinate  aids  and  machinists  attended  to 
the  dynamos,  motors,  and  auxiliary  cylinders  that 
worked  the  turrets,  pumps,  and  ammunition-hoists. 
All  boilers  were  hot  and  hissing  steam ;  all  fire-pumps 
were  working;  all  fire-hose  connected  and  spouting 
streams  of  water.  Perspiring  men  with  strained 
faces  deluged  one  another  while  they  waited. 

In  the  turrets  were  the  gun-crews,  six  men  to  a 
gun,  with  an  officer  above  in  the  sighting-hood;  be- 
hind the  superstructure-ports  were  the  quick-fire 
men,  sailors  and  marines ;  and  above  all,  in  the  fight- 
ing-tops, were  the  sharp-shooters  and  men  who 
handled  the  one-pounders  and  Gatling  guns — the 


50     THE  BRAIN  OF  THE  BATTLE-SHIP 

easiest-minded  of  the  ship's  company,  for  they  could 
see  and  breathe.  Each  division  of  fighters  and  work- 
ers was  overseen  by  an  officer ;  in  some  cases  by  two 
and  three. 

Preparatory  work  was  done,  and,  excepting  the 
"black  gang,"  men  were  quiescent,  but  feverish. 
Few  spoke,  and  then  on  frivolous  things,  in  tones 
that  were  not  recognized.  Occasionally  a  man  would 
bring  out  a  piece  of  paper  and  write,  using  for  a 
desk  a  gun-breech  or  -carriage,  a  turret-wall,  or  the 
deck.  An  officer  in  a  fighting-top  used  a  telegraph- 
dial,  and  a  stoker  in  the  depths  his  shovel,  in  a  chink 
of  light  from  the  furnace.  These  letters,  written  in 
instalments,  were  pocketed  in  confidence  that  some- 
time they  would  be  mailed. 

From  the  captain  down  each  man  knew  that  a 
large  proportion  of  their  number  was  foredoomed; 
but  not  a  consciousness  among  them  could  admit  the 
possibility  of  itself  being  chosen.  The  great  first  law 
forbade  it.  Senior  officers  pictured  in  their  minds 
dead  juniors,  and  thought  of  extra  work  after  the 
fight.  Junior  officers  thought  of  vacancies  above 
them  and  promotion.  Men  in  the  turrets  bade  mental 
good-by  to  their  mates  in  the  superstructure;  and 
these,  secure  in  their  five-inch  protection,  pitied  those 
in  the  fighting-tops,  where,  cold  logic  says,  no  man 
may  live  through  a  sea-fight.  Yet  all  would  have 
volunteered  to  fill  vacancies  aloft.  The  healthy 
human  mind  can  postulate  suffering,  but  not  its  own 
extinction. 

In  a  circular  apartment  in  the  military  mast,  pro- 
tected by  twelve  inches  of  steel,  perforated  by  vertical 
and  horizontal  slits  for  observation,  stood  the  captain 
and  navigating  officer,  both  in  shirt-sleeves ;  for  this, 


THE  BRAIN  OF  THE  BATTLE-SHIP     51 

the  conning-tower,  was  hot.  Around  the  inner  walls 
were  the  nerve-terminals  of  the  structure — the  indi- 
cators, telegraph-dials,  telephones,  push-buttons, 
and  speaking-tubes,  which  communicated  with  gun- 
stations,  turrets,  steering-room,  engine-rooms,  and 
all  parts  of  the  ship  where  men  were  stationed.  In 
the  forward  part  was  a  binnacle  with  small  steering- 
wheel,  disconnected  now,  for  the  steering  was  done 
by  men  below  the  water-line  in  the  stern.  A  spiral 
staircase  led  to  the  main-deck  below,  and  another 
to  the  first  fighting-top  above,  in  which  staircase 
were  small  platforms  where  a  signal-officer  and  two 
quartermasters  watched  through  slits  the  signals  from 
the  flag-ship,  and  answered  as  directed  by  the  captain 
below  with  small  flags,  which  they  mastheaded 
through  the  hollow  within  the  staircase. 

The  chief  master-at-arms,  bareheaded,  climbed 
into  the  conning-tower. 

"  Captain  Blake,  what'll  we  do  with  Finnegan?  " 
he  said.  "  I've  released  him  from  the  brig  as  you 
ordered;  but  Mr.  Clarkson  won't  have  him  in  the 
turret  where  he  belongs,  and  no  one  else  wants  him 
around.  They  even  chased  him  out  of  the  bunkers. 
He  wants  to  work  and  fight,  but  Mr.  Clarkson  won't 
place  him;  says  he  washes  his  hands  of  Finnegan, 
and  sent  me  to  you.  I  took  him  to  the  bay,  but  he 
won't  take  medicine." 

Captain  Blake,  stern  of  face  and  kindly  of  eye, 
drew  back  from  a  peep-hole,  and  asked:  "What's 
his  condition  ?  " 

"  Shaky,  sir.  Sees  little  spiders  and  big  spiders 
crawling  round  his  cap-rim.  Him  and  the  recording 
angel  knows  where  he  gets  it  and  where  he  keeps  it, 
sir ;  but  I  don't.  I've  watched  him  for  six  months.** 


52     THE  BRAIN  OF  THE  BATTLE-SHIP 

"  Send  him  to  me." 

"  Very  good,  sir." 

The  master-at-arms  descended,  and  in  a  few  mo- 
ments the  unwanted  Finnegan  appeared — a  gray- 
bearded,  emaciated,  bleary-eyed  seaman,  who  brushed 
imaginary  things  from  his  neck  and  arms,  and  stam- 
mered, as  he  removed  his  cap:  "Report  for  duty, 
sir." 

"For  duty?"  answered  the  captain,  eying  him 
sternly.  "  For  death.  You  will  be  allowed  the  hon- 
orable death  of  an  English  seaman.  You  will  die  in 
the  fighting-top  sometime  in  the  next  three  hours." 

The  man  shivered,  elevated  one  shoulder,  and 
rubbed  his  ear  against  it,  but  said  nothing,  while  Mr. 
Dalrymple,  the  navigating  officer,  with  his  eyes  at  a 
peep-hole  and  his  ears  open  to  the  dialogue,  won- 
dered (as  he  and  the  whole  ship's  company  had 
wondered  before)  what  the  real  relation  was  between 
the  captain  and  this  wretched,  drunken  butt  of  the 
crew.  For  the  captain's  present  attitude  was  a  com- 
plete departure.  Always  he  had  shielded  Finnegan 
from  punishment  to  the  extent  that  naval  etiquette 
would  permit. 

"  I  ha?e  tried  for  six  years,"  continued  the  cap- 
tain, "  to  reform  you  and  hold  you  to  the  manhood 
I  once  knew  in  you;  but  I  give  you  up.  You  are 
not  fit  to  live,  and  will  never  be  fitter  to  die  than  this 
morning,  when  the  chance  comes  to  you  to  die  fight- 
ing for  your  country.  But  I  want  you  to  die 
fighting.  Do  you  wish  to  see  the  surgeon  or  the 
chaplain?  " 

"  No,  no,  no,  cappen ;  one's  bad  as  t'other.  The 
chaplain'll  pray  and  the  doctor'll  fill  me  up  wi'  bro- 
mide, and  it  just  makes  me  crazy,  sir.  I'm  all  right, 


THE  BRAIN  OF  THE  BATTLE-SHIP     53 

cappen,  if  I  only  had  a  drink.  Just  give  me  a  drink, 
cappen — the  doctor  won't, — and  send  me  down  to 
my  station,  sir.  I  know  it's  only  in  my  head,  but  I 
see  'em  plain,  all  round.  You'll  give  me  a  drink, 
cappen,  please ;  I  know  you'll  give  me  a  drink." 

He  brushed  his  knees  gingerly,  and  stepped  sud- 
denly away  from  an  isolated  speaking-tube.  Cap- 
tain Blake's  stern  face  softened.  His  mind  went  back 
to  his  midshipman  days,  to  a  stormy  night  and  a 
heavy  sea,  an  icy  foot-rope,  a  fall,  a  plunge,  and  a 
cold,  hopeless  swim  toward  a  shadowy  ship  hove  to 
against  the  dark  background,  until  this  man's  face, 
young,  strong,  and  cheery  then,  appeared  behind  a 
white  life-buoy;  and  he  heard  again  the  panting 
voice  of  his  rescuer :  "  Here  ye  are,  Mr.  Blake ;  boat's 
comin'." 

He  whistled  down  the  speaking-tube,  and  when 
answered,  called :  "  Send  an  opened  bottle  of  whisky 
into  the  conning-tower — no  glasses." 

"  Thankee,  sir." 

The  captain  resumed  his  position  at  the  peep-hole, 
and  Finnegan  busied  himself  with  his  troubles  until 
a  Japanese  servant  appeared  with  a  quart  bottle. 
The  captain  received  it,  and  the  Jap  withdrew. 

"  Help  yourself,  Finnegan,"  said  the  captain,  ex- 
tending the  bottle ;  "  take  a  good  drink — a  last  one." 
Finnegan  took  the  equivalent  of  three.  "Now,  up 
with  you."  The  captain  stood  the  bottle  under  the 
binnacle.  "  Upper  top.  Report  to  Mr.  Bates." 

"  Cappen,  please  send  me  down  to  the  turret  where 
I  b'long,  sir.  I'm  all  right  now.  I  don't  want  to  go 
up  there  wi*  the  sogers.  I'm  not  good  at  machine 
guns." 

"  No  arguments.    Up  with  you  at  once.    Xou  ar« 


54     THE  BRAIN  OF  THE  BATTLE-SHIP 

good  for  nothing  but  to  work  a  lever  under  the  eye 
of  an  officer." 

Finnegan  saluted  silently  and  turned  toward  the 
stairs. 

"Finnegan!" 

He  turned.  The  captain  extended  his  hand. 
"Finnegan,"  he  said,  "I  don't  forget  that  night, 
but  you  must  go ;  the  eternal  fitness  of  things  de- 
mands it.  Perhaps  I'll  go,  too.  Good-by." 

The  two  extremes  of  the  ship's  company  shook 
hands,  and  Finnegan  ascended.  When  past  the 
quartermasters  and  out  of  hearing,  he  grumbled  and 
whined :  "  No  good,  hey  ?  Thirty  years  in  the  serv- 
ice, and  sent  up  here  to  think  of  my  sins  like  a  sick 
monkey.  Good  for  nothin'  but  to  turn  a  crank  with 
the  sogers.  Nice  job  for  an  able  seaman.  What's 
the  blasted  service  a-comin'  to?  " 

The  two  fleets  were  approaching  in  similar  forma- 
tion, double  column,  at  about  a  twelve-knot  speed. 
Leading  the  left  column  was  the  Lancaster,  and  fol- 
lowing came  the  Argyll,  Beaufort,  and  Atholl,  the 
last  two,  like  the  Lancaster,  armored  cruisers  of  the 
first  class.  On  the  Lancaster's  starboard  bow  was  the 
flag-ship  Cumberland,  a  large  unarmored  cruiser,  and 
after  her  came  the  Marlborough,  Montrose,  and 
Sutherland,  unarmored  craft  like  the  flag-ship, 
equally  vulnerable  to  fire,  the  two  columns  making  a 
zigzag  line,  with  the  heaviest  ships  to  the  left,  near- 
est the  enemy. 

Heading  as  they  were,  the  fleets  would  pass  about 
a  mile  apart.  Led  by  a  black,  high-sided  monster, 
the  left  column  of  the  enemy  was  made  up  of  four 
battle-ships  of  uncouth,  foreign  design  and  murder- 
ous appearance,  while  the  right  column  contained 


THE  BRAIN  OF  THE  BATTLE-SHIP    55 

the  flag-ship  and  three  others,  all  heavily  armored 
cruisers.  Flanking  each  fleet,  far  to  the  rear,  were 
torpedo-boats  and  destroyers. 

"We're  outclassed,  Dalrymple,"  said  Captain 
Blake.  "  There  are  the  ships  we  expected — Warsaw, 
Riga,  Kharkov,  and  Moscow,  all  of  fighting  weight, 
and  the  Obdorsk,  Tobolsk,  Saratov,  and  Oren- 
burg. Leaving  out  the  Argyll,  we  haven't  a  ship 
equal  to  the  weakest  one  there.  This  fight  is  the 
Argyll's." 

"  And  the  Argyll  is  equal  to  it,  captain.  All  I  fear 
is  torpedoes.  Of  course  our  ends  and  superstructure 
will  catch  it,  and  I  suppose  we'll  lose  men — all  the 
quick-fire  men,  perhaps." 

"  Those  in  the  tops  surely,"  said  the  captain. 
"Dalrymple,  what  do  you  think?  I  don't  feel  right 
about  Finnegan.  He  belongs  in  the  turret,  and  I've 
sentenced  him.  Have  I  the  right?  I've  half  a  mind 
to  call  him  down."  He  pushed  a  button  marked 
"  Forward  turret,"  and  listened  at  a  telephone. 

"  Mr.  Clarkson !  "  he  called.  "  I've  put  your  man 
Finnegan  in  the  upper  top;  but  he  seems  all  right 
now.  Can  you  use  him?  " 

The  answer  came: 

"  No,  sir;  I've  filled  his  place," 

"  Die,  then.  On  my  soul  be  it,  Finnegan,  poor 
devil,"  muttered  the  captain,  gloomily. 

His  foot  struck  the  bottle  under  the  binnacle,  and, 
on  an  impulse  due  to  his  mood,  he  picked  it  up  and 
uncorked  it.  Mr.  Dalrymple  observed  the  action  and 
stepped  toward  him. 

"  Captain,  pardon  me,"  he  said,  "  if  I  protest  un- 
officially. We  are  going  into  action — not  to  dinner." 

The  captain's  eyes  opened  wide  and  shone  brighter, 


56     THE  BRAIN  OF  THE  BATTLE-SHIP 

while  his  lip  curled.  He  extended  the  bottle  to  the 
lieutenant. 

"  The  apologies  are  mine,  Mr.  Dalrymple,"  he 
said.  "  I  forgot  your  presence.  Take  a  drink." 

The  officer  forced  a  smile  to  his  face,  and  stepped 
back,  shaking  his  head.  Captain  Blake  swallowed  a 
generous  portion  of  the  whisky. 

"  The  fool ! "  mused  the  navigator,  as  he  looked 
through  the  peep-hole.  "  The  whole  world  is  watch- 
ing him  to-day,  and  he  turns  to  whisky.  That's  it, 
dammit;  that's  the  bond  of  sympathy:  Blake  and 
Finnegan,  Finnegan  and  Blake — dipsomaniacs. 
Lord,  I  never  thought.  I've  seen  him  drunker  than 
Finnegan,  and  if  it  wasn't  for  his  position  and  obli- 
gations, he'd  see  spiders,  too." 

Mr.  Dalrymple  was  not  the  only  one  on  board  who 
disapproved  of  "  Dutch  courage "  for  captains. 
The  Japanese  servant,  whose  station  was  at  the  for- 
ward-turret ammunition-hoist,  reported  the  service 
of  the  whisky  to  his  mates,  and  from  here  the  news 
spread — as  news  will  in  a  cellular  hull — up  to  turrets 
and  gun-rooms,  through  speaking-tubes  and  water- 
tight bulkheads,  down  to  stoke-hold,  engine-rooms, 
and  steering-room ;  and  long  before  Captain  Blake 
had  thought  of  taking  a  drink  the  whole  ship's  com- 
pany was  commenting,  mentally  and  openly,  and 
more  or  less  profanely,  on  the  story  that  "  the  old 
man  was  getting  drunk  in  the  conning-tower." 

And  another  piece  of  news  traveled  as  fast  and  as 
far — the  whereabouts  of  Finnegan.  Mr.  Clarkson 
had  incidentally  informed  his  gun-captain,  who  told 
the  gun-crew ;  and  from  them  the  news  went  down 
the  hoist  and  spread.  Men  swore  louder  over  this; 
for  though  they  did  not  want  Finnegan  around  and 


THE  BRAIN  OF  THE  BATTLE-SHIP    57 

in  the  way,  they  did  not  want  him  to  die.  Strong 
natures  love  those  which  may  be  teased;  and  not  a 
heart  was  there  but  contained  a  soft  spot  for  the 
helpless,  harmless,  ever  good-natured,  drunk,  and 
ridiculous  Finnegan. 

The  bark  of  an  eight-inch  gun  was  heard.  Cap- 
tain Blake  saw,  through  the  slits  of  the  conning- 
tower,  a  cloud  of  thinning  smoke  drifting  away  from 
the  flag-ship.  Stepping  back,  he  rang  up  the  for- 
ward turret. 

"  Mr.  Clarkson,"  he  said  to  the  telephone  when  it 
answered  him,  "  remember :  aim  for  the  nearest  water- 
line,  load  and  fire,  and  expect  no  orders  after  the  first 
shot." 

Calling  up  the  officer  in  the  after-turret,  he  re- 
peated the  injunction,  substituting  turrets  as  the 
object  of  assault.  He  called  to  the  officers  at  the 
eight-inch  guns  that  conning-towers  and  superstruc- 
ture were  to  receive  their  attention ;  to  those  at  the 
six-inch  guns  to  aim  solely  at  turret  apertures;  to 
ensigns  and  officers  of  marine  in  charge  of  the  quick- 
fire  batteries  to  aim  at  all  holes  and  men  showing, 
to  watch  for  torpedo-boats,  and,  like  the  others,  to 
expect  no  orders  after  the  first  shot.  Then,  ringing 
up  the  round  of  gun-stations,  one  after  another,  he 
sang  out,  in  a  voice  to  be  heard  by  all :  "  Fire  away !  " 

The  initial  gun  had  been  fired  from  the  flag-ship 
when  the  leading  ships  of  the  two  fleets  were  nearly 
abreast.  It  was  followed  by  broadsides  from  all,  and 
the  action  began.  The  Argyll,  rolling  slightly  from 
the  recoil  of  her  guns,  smoked  down  the  line  like  a 
thing  alive,  voicing  her  message,  dealing  out  death 
and  receiving  it.  In  this  first  round  of  the  battle  the 
fire  of  the  eight  opposing  vessels  was  directed  at  her 


58     THE  BRAIN  OF  THE  BATTLE-SHIP 

alone.  Shells  punctured  her  vulnerable  parts,  and, 
exploding  inside,  killed  men  and  dismounted  guns. 
The  groans  of  the  stricken,  the  crash  of  steel  against 
steel,  the  roar  of  the  turret-guns,  the  rattling  chorus 
of  quick-fire  rifles,  and  the  drumming  of  heavy  shells 
against  the  armor  and  turrets  made  an  uproarious 
riot  of  sound  over  which  no  man  above  the  water- 
line  could  lift  his  voice.  But  there  were  some  there, 
besides  the  dead, — men  who  worked  through  and  sur- 
vived the  action, — who,  after  the  first  impact  of 
sound,  did  not  hear  it,  nor  anything  else  while  they 
lived.  They  were  the  men  who  had  neglected  stuffing 
their  ears  with  cotton. 

A  fundamental  canon  of  naval  tactics  is  to  main- 
tain formation.  Another  is  to  keep  rnoving,  at  the 
full  speed  of  the  slowest  ship,  not  only  to  disconcert 
the  enemy's  fire,  but  to  obtain  and  hold  the  most 
advantageous  position — if  possible,  to  flank  him.  As 
these  rules  apply  equally  well  to  both  sides,  it  is 
obvious  that  two  fleets,  passing  in  opposite  directions, 
and  each  trying  to  flank  the  rear  of  the  other,  will 
eventually  circle  around  a  common  center;  and  if  the 
effort  to  improve  position  dominates  the  effort  to 
evade  fire,  this  circle  will  narrow  until  the  battle  be- 
comes a  melee. 

The  two  lines,  a  mile  apart  and  each  about  a  mile 
in  length,  were  squarely  abreast  in  less  than  five 
minutes  from  the  time  of  firing  the  first  gun;  and 
by  now  the  furious  bombardment  of  the  Argyll  by 
eight  ships  had  ceased,  for  each  one  found  it  more 
profitable  to  deal  with  its  vis-a-vis.  But  there  was 
yet  a  deafening  racket  in  the  Argyll's  conning-tower 
as  small  projectiles  from  the  rear  battle-ship  abreast 
impinged  on  its  steel  walls;  and  Captain  Blake,  his 


THE  BRAIN  OF  THE  BATTLE-SHIP    59 

ears  ringing,  his  eyes  streaming,  half  stunned  by  the 
noise,  almost  blinded  and  suffocated  by  the  smoke 
from  his  forward  guns,  did  not  know  that  his  ship 
had  dropped  back  in  the  line  until  the  signal-officer 
descended  and  shouted  in  his  ear  an  order  signaled 
from  the  admiral :  "  Move  ahead  to  position." 

"Hang  the  man  who  invented  conning-towers," 
he  muttered  angrily.  "  Keep  a  lookout  up  there, 
Mr.  Wright,"  he  shouted ;  "  I  can  see  very  little.'* 

The  officer  half  saluted,  half  nodded,  and  ran  up 
the  stair,  while  Captain  Blake  rang  "  full  speed  "  to 
the  engines.  The  indicators  on  the  wall  showed  in- 
creased revolution,  and  he  resumed  his  place  at  the 
peep-hole.  In  a  few  moments  Mr.  Wright  reap- 
peared with  a  message  from  the  flag-ship  to  "  star- 
board helm ;  follow  ship  ahead." 

"  All  right.  Watch  out  up  there ;  report  all  you 
see,"  he  answered.  Peeping  out,  he  saw  the  Lancaster 
and  the  Cumberland  sheering  to  port,  and  he  moved 
the  lever  of  the  steering-telegraph.  There  was  no  an- 
swering ring.  "  Shot  away,  by  George,"  he  growled. 
He  yelled  into  a  supplementary  voice-tube  to  "  star- 
board your  wheel — slowly."  This  was  not  answered, 
and  with  his  own  hands  he  coupled  up  the  steering- 
wheel  on  the  binnacle  and  gave  it  a  turn.  It  was 
merely  a  governor,  which  admitted  steam  to  the 
steering-engine,  and  there  was  no  resisting  pressure 
to  guide  him;  but  a  helm  indicator  showed  him  the 
changed  position  of  the  rudder,  and,  on  looking 
ahead,  he  found  that  she  answered  the  wheel ;  also,  on 
looking  to  starboard,  he  found  that  he  had  barely 
escaped  collision  with  the  Montrose,  whose  fire  he 
had  been  masking,  to  the  scandal  of  the  admiral  and 
the  Montrose's  officers. 


60    THE  BRAIN  OF  THE  BATTLE-SHIP 

A  little  unnerved,  Captain  Blake  called  down  a 
seven-inch  tube  to  an  apartment  in  the  depths, — a 
central  station  of  pipes  and  wires,  to  be  used  as  a 
last  resort, — directing  the  officer  on  post  to  notify 
the  chief  engineer  of  the  damage,  and  to  order  the 
quartermasters  in  the  steering-room  to  disconnect 
their  wheel  and  stand  by.  This  was  answered,  and  the 
captain  resumed  his  lookout,  one  hand  on  the  wheel. 

"  Reduces  the  captain  of  the  ship  to  a  helmsman," 
he  muttered. 

The  navigating  officer  approached,  indicating  by 
gesture  and  expression  his  intention  of  relieving  him, 
but  was  waved  away. 

"  I  want  the  wheel  myself,"  shouted  the  captain. 
"  Devil  take  a  conning-tower,  anyway !  Keep  a  look- 
out to  port.  But  say,  Dalrymple,  send  up  for  Fin- 
negan.  I'll  not  have  him  killed.  Get  him  down,  if 
he's  alive." 

Mr.  Dalrymple  ascended  the  stair  to  pass  the  word 
for  Finnegan,  but  did  not  come  down.  He  had 
reached  the  signal-platform,  where  one  quartermas- 
ter lay  dead,  and  was  transmitting  the  order  to  Mr. 
Wright,  when  a  heavy  shell  struck  the  mast,  above 
their  heads  and  below  the  lower  top,  exploded  inside, 
killed  the  three  men  on  the  platform,  and  hurled  the 
upper  part  of  the  mast,  with  both  tops  full  of  dead 
men  and  living,  high  in  air.  The  conning-tower  was 
filled  with  gas  and  smoke ;  but  Captain  Blake,  though 
burned  and  nearly  stripped  of  clothing  by  the  blast 
of  flame,  was  uninjured  by  the  flying  fragments  of  the 
shell.  Smarting,  gasping,  and  choking,  fully  aware 
of  the  complete  destruction  above,  his  mind  dwelt  for 
an  instant  on  the  man  who  had  once  saved  his  life, 
whom  he  had  sentenced  to  death.  He  looked  up  the 


THE  BRAIN  OF  THE  BATTLE-SHIP     61 

hollow  within  the  wrecked  staircase,  but  saw  nothing. 

Mr.  Clarkson,  however,  happened  to  be  looking 
through  an  upper  peep-hole  in  the  sighting-hood  at 
this  moment,  and  saw  the  upper  half  of  the  mast  lift 
and  turn ;  also,  dimly  through  the  smoke,  he  noticed, 
among  the  dozen  of  men  hurled  from  the  tops,  the 
blue-shirted  figure  of  one  whom  he  knew  to  be  Finne- 
gan,  clinging  at  arm's-length  in  mid-air  to  a  Gatling 
gun,  which  had  been  torn  from  its  fastenings.  Then 
the  smoke  thickened  and  shut  out  the  view;  but  a 
moment  later  he  heard  the  rattling  crash  of  the  mast 
as  it  fell  upon  the  superstructure  beneath. 

"  The  whole  mast's  gone,  boys,"  he  shouted  to  his 
crew — "  both  tops.  Finnegan's  done  for." 

And  the  story  of  Finnegan's  finish  went  down  the 
hoist  and  through  the  ship,  everywhere  received  with 
momentary  sorrow,  and  increased  malediction  on  the 
drunken  captain,  who  thought  no  more — and  knew 
no  more — of  a  blue- jacket  than  to  masthead  him  with 
the  marines. 

The  tactics  of  both  admirals  being  the  same,  and 
the  speed  of  both  fleets — that  of  their  slowest  ships 
— being  equal,  they  turned,  and,  like  two  serpents 
pursuing  each  other's  tails,  charged  around  in  a 
circle,  each  ship  firing  at  the  nearest  or  most  impor- 
tant enemy.  This  fire  was  destructive.  A  ship  a 
mile  distant  is  a  point-blank  target  for  modern  guns 
and  gunners,  and  everything  protected  by  less  than 
eight  inches  of  steel  suffered.  The  Argyll  had  lost 
her  military  mast  and  most  of  her  secondary  guns. 
The  flag-ship  Cumberland,  raked  and  riddled  by  nine- 
and  eleven-inch  shells,  surrounded  herself  with  steam 
from  punctured  boilers  shortly  after  the  signal  to 
turn,  and  swung  drunkenly  out  of  line,  her  boilers 


63     THE  BRAIN  OF  THE  BATTLE-SHIP 

roaring,  her  heavy  guns  barking.  A  long,  black 
thing,  low  down  behind  the  wave  created  by  its  rush, 
darted  by  her,  unstruck  by  the  shells  sent  by  the 
flag-ship  and  the  Marlborough.  A  larger  thing, 
mouse-colored  and  nearly  hidden  by  a  larger  wave, 
was  coming  from  the  opposite  direction,  spitting  one- 
pound  shot  at  the  rate  of  sixty  a  minute,  but  without 
present  avail;  for  a  spindle-shaped  object  left  the 
deck  of  the  first  when  squarely  abreast  of  the 
helpless  flag-ship,  diving  beneath  the  surface,  and 
the  existence  and  position  of  this  object  were  hence- 
forth indicated  only  by  a  line  of  bubbles,  a  darting 
streak  of  froth,  traveling  toward  the  Cumberland. 
In  less  than  a  minute  it  had  reached  her.  The  sea 
alongside  arose  in  a  mound,  and  she  semed  to  lean 
away  from  it;  then  the  mound  burst,  and  out  of  it, 
and  spouting  from  funnels,  ventilators,  and  ports, 
came  a  dense  cloud  of  smoke,  which  mingled  with  the 
steam  and  hid  her  from  view,  while  a  dull,  booming 
roar,  barely  distinguishable  in  the  noise  of  battle, 
came  across  the  water.  When  the  cloud  thinned  these 
was  nothing  to  be  seen  but  heads  of  swimming  men, 
who  swam  for  a  time  and  sank.  The  flag-ship  had 
been  torpedoed. 

But  the  torpedo-boat  followed  her.  Pursued  by 
the  mouse-colored  destroyer,  she  circled  around 
and  headed  back  in  the  endeavor  to  reach  her  con- 
sorts ;  but  she  had  not  time.  Little  by  little  the 
avenger  crept  up,  pounding  her  with  small  shot  and 
shell,  until,  leaking  from  a  hundred  wounds,  she 
settled  beneath  the  surface.  She  had  fulfilled  her 
mission ;  she  was  designed  to  strike  once  and  die. 

No  armored  cruiser  may  withstand  the  fire  of  a 
battle-ship.  The  Lancaster,  leading  the  Argyll,  re- 


THE  BRAIN  OF  THE  BATTLE-SHIP    63 

ceived  through  her  eight-inch  water-line  belt  the 
heavy  shot  and  shell  of  the  Moscow  and  Orenburg. 
Nine-  and  eleven-inch  shell  fire,  sent  by  Canet  and 
Hontoria  guns,  makes  short  work  of  eight-inch 
armor,  and  the  doomed  Lancaster  settled  and  disap- 
peared, her  crew  yelling,  her  screws  turning,  and  her 
guns  firing  until  the  water  swamped  her.  The  fol- 
lowing Argyll  scraped  her  funnels  and  masts  as  she 
passed  over. 

Eight  hundred  feet  back  in  the  line  was  the  Beau- 
fort,  armored  like  the  Lancaster.  Her  ending  was 
dramatic  and  suicidal.  Drilled  through  and  through 
by  the  fire  of  the  Riga,  she  fought  and  suffered  until 
the  Lancaster  foundered;  then,  with  all  guns  out  of 
action,  but  with  still  intact  engine-power,  she  left  the 
line,  not  to  run,  but  to  ram.  The  circle  was  narrow- 
ing, but  she  had  fully  four  minutes  to  steam  before 
she  could  reach  the  opposite  side  and  intercept  her 
slayer.  And  in  this  short  time  she  was  reduced  to 
scrap-iron  by  the  concentrated  fire  of  the  Warsaw, 
Riga,  and  Kharkov.  Every  shot  from  every  gun  on 
the  three  battle-ships  struck  the  unlucky  cruiser;  but 
in  the  face  of  the  storm  of  flame  and  steel  she  went 
on,  exhaling  through  fissures  and  portr  smoke  from 
bursting  shells  and  steam  from  broken  pipes.  Half- 
way across,  an  almost  solid  belching  upward  and 
outward  of  white  steam  indicated  a  stricken  boiler, 
and  from  now  on  her  progress  was  slow.  She  was 
visibly  lower  in  the  water  and  rolled  heavily.  Soon 
another  cloud  arose  from  her,  her  headway  decreased, 
and  she  came  to  a  stop,  two  hundred  yards  on  the 
port  bow  of  the  onrushing  Riga,  whose  crew  yelled 
derisively — whose  quick-fire  guns  still  puniehed  her. 

But  the  yells  suddenly  ceased  and  the  gunners 


64.     THE  BRAIN  OF  THE  BATTLE-SHIP 

changed  their  aim.  A  small  thing  had  left  the  nearly 
submerged  tube  in  the  cruiser's  stem,  and  the  gun- 
ners were  now  firing  at  a  darting  line  of  bubbles, 
obliterating  the  target  for  a  moment  with  the  churn- 
ing of  the  water,  only  to  see  the  frothy  streak  within 
their  range,  coming  on  at  locomotive  speed.  They 
aimed  ahead;  two  five-inch  guns  added  their  clamor, 
and  even  a  Hontoria  turret-gun  voiced  its  roar  and 
sent  its  messenger.  But  the  bubbles  would  not  stop ; 
they  entered  the  bow  wave  of  the  battle-ship,  and  a 
second  later  the  great  floating  fort  separated  into 
two  parts,  with  a  crackling  thunder  of  sound  and  an 
outburst  of  flame  and  smoke  which  came  of  nothing 
less  than  an  exploded  magazine.  The  two  halves 
rolled  far  to  starboard,  then  to  port,  shivered,  set- 
tled, turned  completely  over,  and  sank  in  a  turmoil 
of  bursting  steam  and  air-bubbles.  Three  minutes 
later  the  Beaufort  lifted  her  stern  and  dived  gently 
after  her  victim,  still  groaning  hoarsely  from  her 
punctured  iron  lungs.  In  her  death-agony  she  had 
given  birth  to  a  child  more  terrible  than  a  battle- 
ship. 

The  rear  ship  of  the  inner  column,  the  Afholl,  was 
officially  an  armored  cruiser,  but  possessed  none  of 
the  attributes  of  the  cruiser  class.  She  was  the 
laggard  of  the  fleet,  and  her  heaviest  guns  were  of 
six-inch  caliber;  but,  being  designed  for  a  battle- 
ship, she  carried  this  temporary  battery  behind  six- 
teen inches  of  steel,  and  had  maintained  her  integrity, 
taking  harder  blows  than  she  could  give.  With  the 
going  down  of  the  Beaufort  she  took  a  position  astern 
of  the  Sutherland,  and  the  double  line  of  battle  was 
reduced  to  a  single  line ;  for  the  Argyll  had  left  the 
column  when  the  flag-ship  sank. 


THE  BRAIN  OF  THE  BATTLE-SHIP    65 

And  this  is  why  the  overmatched,  battered,  and  all 
but  demoralized  cruisers  received  no  more  attention 
from  the  enemy ;  it  were  wiser  to  deal  with  the  Argyll. 
The  Saratov,  blazing  fiercely  from  the  effects  of  a 
well-planted  shell,  had  drawn  out  of  line,  the  better 
to  deal  with  her  trouble.  Her  place  in  the  line  and 
that  of  the  sunken  Riga  were  filled  by  the  following 
ships  drawing  ahead ;  but  the  fleet  still  held  to  double 
column,  and  into  the  lane  between  the  lines  the 
Argyll  was  coming  at  sixteen  knots,  breathing  flame, 
vomiting  steel — delivering  destruction  and  death. 

She  had  rounded  the  Moscow's  stern,  raking  her  as 
she  came,  and  sending  armor-piercing  shells  through 
her  citadel.  Some  exploded  on  impact,  some  inside; 
all  did  work.  An  eight-inch  projectile  entered  the 
after  turret-port,  and  silenced  the  gun  and  gun-crew 
forever.  Before  the  Argyll  was  abeam  the  Moscow 
had  ceased  firing.  Rolling  and  smoking,  her  crew 
decimated,  her  guns  disabled  and  steering-gear  car- 
ried away,  she  swung  out  of  line ;  and  the  appearance 
in  his  field  of  vision  of  several  rushing  waves  with 
short  smoke-stacks  behind,  and  the  supplementary 
pelting  his  ship  was  now  receiving  from  the  Marl- 
borough,  decided  her  commander  to  lower  his  flag. 

On  the  starboard  bow  of  the  Argyll  was  the  arm- 
ored cruiser  Orenburg.  Her  fire,  hot  and  true, 
ceased  on  the  explosion  of  a  large  shell  at  her  water- 
line,  and  she  swung  out  of  the  fight,  silent  but  for  the 
roar  of  escaping  steam,  heeled  heavily  to  port,  and 
sank  in  ten  minutes,  her  ensigns  flying  to  the  last. 
Mr.  Clarkson  rejoiced  with  his  gun-crew.  He  had 
sent  the  shell. 

On  stormed  the  Argyll.  Her  next  adversary  was 
the  Kharkov,  a  battle-ship  nearly  equal  in  guns  and 


66     THE  BRAIN  OF  THE  BATTLE-SHIP 

armor  to  herself,  but  not  quite — by  an  inch.  And  that 
inch  cost  her  the  fight.  With  her  main  turrets  dam- 
aged, her  superstructure,  secondary  guns,  and  tor- 
pedo-tubes shot  away,  she  yielded  to  fate,  and,  while 
the  Argyll  passed  on,  hauled  down  her  ensigns  at 
the  request  of  a  torpedo-boat. 

Ahead  and  to  starboard  was  the  cruiser  Tobolsk, 
leaving  the  neighborhood  as  fast  as  her  twin  screws 
could  push  her.  Her  end  was  in  sight ;  in  her  wake 
were  two  gray  destroyers,  and  behind,  charging 
across  the  broken  formation,  was  the  fleet  Marl- 
borough.  The  Argyll  ignored  the  Tobolsk;  for  slow- 
ing down  to  await  her  coming  was  the  black  and 
high-sided  Warsaw,  the  monster  of  the  fleet,  bristling 
with  guns,  somber  and  ominous  in  her  silence. 

Ahead  of  her,  and  turning  to  port,  was  the  flag- 
ship Obdorsk,  also  slowed  down;  but  she  promised  to 
be  fully  occupied  with  the  Atholl,  Sutherland,  and 
Montrose,  who  had  wheeled  in  their  tracks,  no  longer 
obliged  to  traverse  a  circle  to  reach  an  enemy. 

On  rushed  the  Argyll,  and  when  nearly  up  to  the 
Warsaw,  the  latter  gave  steam  to  her  engines. 
Breast  to  breast  the  gladiators  charged  across  the 
sea,  roaring,  flaming,  and  smoking.  A  torpedo  left 
the  side  of  the  Warsaw,  pointed  diagonally  ahead,  to 
intercept  the  Argyll.  But  it  was  badly  aimed,  and 
the  hissing  bubbles  passed  under  her  stern.  Before 
another  could  be  discharged,  the  torpedo-room,  lo- 
cated by  the  Argyll's  officers,  was  enlarged  to  the  size 
of  three  by  the  succeeding  bombardment  and  the  ex- 
plosion of  the  remaining  torpedoes. 

Twelve-inch  armor  cannot  keep  out  thirteen-inch 
armor-piercing  shell,  and  torpedoes  cannot  explode 
on  board  without  damage  to  machinery,  steering- 


THE  BRAIN  OF  THE  BATTLE-SHIP    67 

gear,  and  vital  connections.  The  Warsaw  yawed, 
slackened  speed,  and  came  to  a  stop,  her  turret-guns 
still  speaking,  but  the  secondary  guns  silent.  The 
Argyll  circled  around  her,  sending  her  thirteen-, 
eight-,  and  six-inch  shells  into  her  victim  with  almost 
muzzle  energy.  The  two  military  masts  of  the  War- 
saw sank,  and  dead  men  in  the  fighting-tops  were 
flung  overboard.  The  forward  turret  seemed  to  ex- 
plode; smoke  and  flame  shot  out  of  the  ports,  and 
its  top  lifted  and  fell.  Then  the  Argyll  turned  and 
headed  straight  for  her  side. 

There  was  little  need  of  gun  fire  now;  but  ihe 
forward-turret  guns  belched  once  during  the  charge, 
and  the  more  quickly  handled  eight-  and  six-inch 
rifles  stormed  away  while  there  was  time  to  reload. 
Smoking,  rolling,  and  barking, — ten  thousand  tons 
of  inertia  behind  a  solid  steel  knife, — she  pounced 
on  her  now  silent  enemy.  There  was  a  crunching 
sound,  muffled  and  continuous.  The  speed  of  the 
Argyll  seemed  hardly  checked.  In  went  the  ram 
farther  and  farther,  until  the  slanting  edge  began 
cutting  above  the  water.  Then  the  Warsaw,  heeled 
far  over  by  the  impact,  rolled  back,  and  the  knife 
cut  upward.  The  smooth  plates  at  the  Argyll's 
water-line  wrinkled  like  paper,  and  the  pile  of  shat- 
tered steel  which  had  once  been  her  forward  deck  and 
bulkheads  was  shaken  up  and  adjusted  to  new  posi- 
tions ;  but  not  until  her  nose  was  actually  buried  in 
the  wound — until  the  Warsaw  was  cut  half  in  two — 
did  the  reversed  engines  begin  to  work.  The  Argyll 
backed  out,  exposing  for  a  moment  a  hole  like  a 
cavern's  mouth;  then  the  stricken  ship  rolled  heavily 
toward  her,  burying  the  sore,  and,  humming  and 
buzzing  with  exhausting  steam  and  rushing  air,  set- 


68     THE  BRAIN  OF  THE  BATTLE-SHIP 

tied  rapidly  and  sank,  while  out  from  ports,  doors, 
and  nearly  vertical  hatches  came  her  crew,  as  many 
as  could.  They  sprang  overboard  and  swam,  and 
those  that  reached  the  now  stationary  Argyll  were 
rescued ;  for  a  cry  had  gone  through  the  latter  from 
the  central  station  in  her  depths :  "  All  hands  on  deck 
to  save  life!  Bring  ladders,  life-buoys,  and  ropes' 
ends ! " 

The  battle  was  ended ;  for,  with  the  ramming  of  the 
Warsaw,  the  Obdorsk  struck  to  the  three  ships  cir- 
cling around  her.  They  had  suffered,  but  the  battle- 
ship Argyll  was  reduced  to  a  monitor.  Her  super- 
structure and  the  bow  and  stern  above  the  water-line 
were  shattered  to  a  shapeless  tangle  of  steel.  What 
was  left  of  her  funnels  and  ventilators  resembled 
nutmeg-graters,  and  she  was  perceptibly  down  by  the 
head ;  for  her  bow  leaked  through  its  wrinkled  plates, 
and  the  forward  compartment  below  the  protective 
deck  was  filled.  Yet  she  could  still  fight  in  smooth 
water.  Her  box-like  citadel  was  intact,  and  standing 
naked  out  of  the  wreck,  scarred  and  dented,  but  un- 
injured, were  the  turrets,  ammunition-hoists,  and 
conning-tower.  In  the  latter  was  the  brain  of  the 
ship,  that  had  fought  her  to  victory  and  then  sent 
the  call  to  her  crew  to  save  the  lives  of  their  enemies. 

Two  men  met  on  a  level  spot  amidships  and 
clasped  hands.  Both  were  bare-waisted  and  grimy, 
and  one  showed  red  as  a  lobster  under  the  stains.  He 
was  the  chief  engineer. 

"We've  won,  Clarkson,"  he  said.  "We've  won 
the  hottest  fight  that  history  can  tell  of — won  it  our- 
selves ;  but  he'll  get  the  credit." 

"  And  he's  drunk  as  a  lord — drunk  through  it  all. 
What  did  he  ram  for?  Why  did  he  send  two  millions 


THE  BRAIN  OF  THE  BATTLE-SHIP     69 

of  prize-money  to  the  bottom  ?  O  Lord !  O  Lord !  it's 
enough  to  make  a  man  swear  at  his  mother.  We  had 
her  licked.  Why  did  he  ram?  " 

"  Because  he  was  drunk,  that's  why.  He  rang  seven 
bells  to  me  along  at  the  first  of  the  muss,  and  then 
sent  word  through  young  Felton  that  he  wanted  full 
speed.  Dammit,  he  already  had  it,  every  pound  of  it. 
And  he  gave  me  no  signal  to  reverse  when  we  struck ; 
if  it  wasn't  for  luck  and  a  kind  Providence  we'd 
have  followed  the  Warsaw.  I  barely  got  her  over. 
Here,  Mr.  Felton;  you  were  in  the  central,  were  you 
not?  How'd  the  old  man  appear  to  be  making  it? 
Were  his  orders  intelligible?" 

A  young  man  had  joined  them,  hot,  breathing 
hard,  and  unclothed. 

"  Not  always,  sir ;  I  had  to  ask  him  often  to  repeat, 
and  then  I  sometimes  got  another  order.  He  kept  me 
busy  from  the  first,  when  he  sent  the  torpedoes  over- 
board." 

"The  torpedoes!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Clarkson. 
"  Did  we  use  them?  I  didn't  know  it." 

"  He  was  afraid  they'd  explode  on  board,  sir,"  he 
said.  "  That  was  just  after  we  took  full  speed." 

"  And  just  before  he  got  too  full  to  be  afraid  of 
anything,"  muttered  the  lieutenant.  "  Why  don't 
he  come  out  of  that?  "  He  glanced  toward  the  con- 
ning-tower.  Other  officers  had  joined  them. 

"  We'll  investigate,"  said  Mr.  Clarkson. 

The  door  on  the  level  of  the  main-deck  leading  into 
the  mast  was  found  to  be  wedged  fast  by  the  blow  of 
a  projectile.  Men,  naked  and  black,  sprawled  about 
the  wreckage  breathing  fresh  air,  were  ordered  to  get 
up  and  to  rig  a  ladder  outside.  They  did  so,  and 
Mr.  Clarkson  ascended  to  the  ragged  end  of  the 


70    THE  BRAIN  OF  THE  BATTLE-SHIP 

hollow  stump  and  looked  down.  Standing  at  the 
wheel,  steering  the  drifting  ship  with  one  hand  and 
holding  an  empty  bottle  in  the  other,  was  a  man 
with  torn  clothing  and  bloody  face.  In  spite  of  the 
disfigurement  Mr.  Clarkson  knew  him.  Jammed  into 
the  narrow  staircase  leading  below  was  the  body  of  a 
man  partly  hidden  by  a  Gatling  gun,  the  lever  of 
which  had  pierced  the  forehead. 

"Finnegan,"  yelled  the  officer,  "  how'd  you  get 
there?" 

The  man  at  the  wheel  lifted  a  bleary  eye  and 
blinked;  then,  unsteadily  touching  his  forehead,  an- 
swered :  "  Fe'  dow'-shtairs,  shir." 

"Come  out  of  that!  On  deck  there!  Take  the 
wheel,  one  hand,  and  stand  by  it ! "  Mr.  Clarkson 
descended  to  the  others  with  a  serious  look  on  his 
grimy  face,  and  a  sailor  climbed  the  ladder  and  went 
down  the  mast. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  the  first  lieutenant,  impres- 
sively, "  we  were  mistaken,  and  we  wronged  Captain 
Blake.  He  is  dead.  He  died  at  the  beginning.  He 
lies  under  a  Gatling  gun  in  the  bottom  of  the  tower. 
I  saw  Finnegan  hanging  to  that  gun,  whirling  around 
it,  when  the  mast  blew  up.  It  is  all  plain  now.  Fin- 
negan and  the  gun  fell  into  the  tower.  Finnegan  may 
have  struck  the  stairs  and  rolled  down,  but  the  gun 
went  down  the  hollow  within  and  killed  the  captain. 
We  have  been  steered  and  commanded  by  a  drunken 
man — but  it  was  Finnegan." 

Finnegan  scrambled  painfully  down  the  ladder. 
He  staggered,  stumbled,  and  fell  in  a  heap. 

"  Rise  up,"  said  Mr.  Clarkson,  as  they  surrounded 
him ;  "  rise  up,  Daniel  Drake  Nelson  Farragut  Finne- 
gan. You  are  small  potatoes  and  few  in  the  hill ;  you 


THE  BRAIN  OF  THE  BATTLE-SHIP     71 

are  shamefully  drunk,  and  your  nose  bleeds ;  you  are 
stricken  with  Spanish  mildew,  and  you  smell  vilely — 
but  you  are  immortal.  You  have  been  a  disgrace  to 
the  service,  but  Fate  in  her  gentle  irony  has  redeemed 
you,  permitting  you,  in  one  brief  moment  of  your 
misspent  life,  to  save  to  your  country  the  command 
of  the  seas — to  guide,  with  your  subconscious  intelli- 
gence, the  finest  battle-ship  the  science  of  the  world 
has  constructed  to  glorious  victory,  through  the 
fiercest  sea-fight  the  world  has  known.  Rise  up, 
Daniel,  and  see  the  surgeon." 
But  Finnegan  only  snored. 


THE   WIGWAG  MESSAGE 

A3  eight  bells  sounded,  Captain  Bacon  and  Mr. 
Knapp  came  up  from  breakfast,  and  Mr. 
Hansen,  the  squat  and  square-built  second  mate,  im- 
mediately went  down.  The  deck  was  still  wet  from 
the  morning  washing  down,  and  forward  the  watch 
below  were  emerging  from  the  forecastle  to  relieve 
the  other  half,  who  were  coiling  loosely  over  the  top 
of  the  forward  house  a  heavy,  wet  hawser  used  in 
towing  out  the  evening  before.  They  were  doing  it 
properly,  and  as  no  present  supervision  was  neces- 
sary, the  first  mate  remained  on  the  poop  for  a  few 
moments'  further  conversation  with  the  captain. 

"  Poor  crew,  cap'n,"  he  said,  as,  picking  his  teeth 
with  the  end  of  a  match,  he  scanned  the  men  forward. 
"  It'll  take  me  a  month  to  lick  'em  into  shape." 

To  judge  by  his  physique,  a  month  was  a  generous 
limit  for  such  an  operation.  He  was  a  giant,  with  a 
giant's  fist  and  foot;  red-haired  and  bearded,  and 
of  sinister  countenance.  But  he  was  no  more  formi- 
dable in  appearance  than  his  captain,  who  was  equally 
big,  but  smooth-shaven,  and  showing  the  square  jaw 
and  beetling  brows  of  a  born  fighter. 

"Are  the  two  drunks  awake  yet?"  asked  the 
latter. 

"  Not  at  four  o'clock,  sir,"  answered  the  mate. 
"Mr.  Hansen  couldn't  get  'em  out.  I'll  soon  turn 
'em  to." 

As  he  spoke,  two  men  appeared  from  around  the 
corner  of  the  forward  house,  and  came  aft.  They 
72 


THE  WIGWAG  MESSAGE  7S 

were  young  men,  between  twenty-five  and  thirty,  with 
intelligent,  sunburnt  faces.  One  was  slight  of  figure, 
with  the  refinement  of  thought  and  study  in  his  fea- 
tures ;  the  other,  heavier  of  mold  and  muscular, 
though  equally  quick  in  his  movements,  had  that  in 
his  dark  eyes  which  said  plainly  that  he  was  wont  to 
supplement  the  work  of  his  hands  with  the  work  of 
his  brain.  Both  were  dressed  in  the  tar-stained  and 
grimy  rags  of  the  merchant  sailor  at  sea ;  and  they 
walked  the  wet  and  unsteady  deck  with  no  absence  of 
"  sea-legs,"  climbed  the  poop  steps  to  leeward,  as 
was  proper,  and  approached  the  captain  and  first 
mate  at  the  weather  rail.  The  heavier  man  touched 
his  cap,  but  the  other  merely  inclined  his  head,  and 
smiling  frankly  and  fearlessly  from  one  face  to  the 
other,  said,  in  a  pleasant,  evenly  modulated  voice : 

"  Good  morning.  I  presume  that  one  of  you  is 
the  captain." 

"  I'm  the  captain.  What  do  you  want?  "  was  the 
gruff  response. 

"  Captain,  I  believe  that  the  etiquette  of  the  mer- 
chant service  requires  that  when  a  man  is  shanghaied 
on  board  an  outward-bound  ship  he  remains  silent, 
does  what  is  told  him  cheerfully,  and  submits  to  fate 
until  the  passage  ends ;  but  we  cannot  bring  ourselves 
to  do  so.  We  were  struck  down  in  a  dark  spot  last 
night, — sandbagged,  I  should  say, — and  we  do  not 
know  what  happened  afterward,  though  we  must 
have  been  kept  unconscious  with  chloroform  or  some 
such  drug.  We  wakened  this  morning  in  your  fore- 
castle, dressed  in  these  clothes,  and  robbed  of  every- 
thing we  had  with  us." 

"  Where  were  you  slugged?  " 

"  In  Cherry   Street.      The  bridge   cars  were  not 


74  THE  WIGWAG  MESSAGE 

running,  so  we  crossed  from  Brooklyn  by  the  Cather- 
ine Ferry,  and  foolishly  took  a  short  cut  to  the  ele- 
vated station." 

"Well,  what  of  it?  " 

"  What — why — why,  captain,  that  you  will  kindly 
put  us  aboard  the  first  inbound  craft  we  meet." 

"Not  much  I  won't,"  answered  the  captain,  de- 
cidedly. "  You  belong  to  my  crew.  I  paid  for 
twenty  men ;  and  you  two  and  two  others  skipped  at 
the  dock.  I  had  to  wait  all  day  in  the  Horseshoe. 
You  two  were  caught  dead  drunk  last  night,  and 
came  down  with  the  tug.  That's  what  the  runners 
said,  and  that's  all  I  know  about  it.  Go  forrard." 

"  Do  you  mean,  captain — " 

"  Go  forrard  where  you  belong.  Mr.  Knapp,  set 
these  men  to  work." 

Captain  Bacon  turned  his  back  on  them,  and 
walked  away. 

"  Get  off  the  poop,"  snarled  the  mate.  "  Forrard 
wi»  you  both!" 

"  Captain,  I  advise  you  to  reconsider — " 

The  words  were  stopped  by  a  blow  of  the  mate's 
fist,  and  the  speaker  fell  to  the  deck.  Then  a  hoarse 
growl  of  horror  and  rage  came  from  his  companion ; 
and  Captain  Bacon  turned  to  see  him  dancing  around 
the  first  officer  with  the  skill  and  agility  of  a  profes- 
sional boxer,  planting  vicious  blows  on  his  hairy  face 
and  neck. 

"  Stop  this,"  roared  the  captain,  as  his  right  hand 
sought  the  pocket  of  his  coat.  "  Stop  it,  I  say.  Mr. 
Hansen,"  he  called  down  the  skylight,  "  on  deck, 
here." 

The  huge  mate  was  getting  the  worst  of  the  unex- 
pected battle,  and  Captain  Bacon  approached  cau- 


THE  WIGWAG  MESSAGE  75 

tiously.  His  right  hand  had  come  out  of  his  pocket, 
armed  with  large  brass  knuckles ;  but  before  he  could 
use  them  his  dazed  and  astonished  first  officer  went 
down  under  the  rain  of  blows.  It  was  then,  while 
the  victor  waited  for  him  to  rise,  that  the  brass 
knuckles  impacted  on  his  head,  and  he,  too,  went 
down,  to  lie  quiet  where  he  fell.  The  other  young 
man  had  arisen  by  this  time,  somewhat  shocked  and 
unsteady  in  movement,  and  was  coming  bravely 
toward  the  captain;  but  before  he  could  reach  him 
his  arms  were  pinioned  from  behind  by  Mr.  Hansen, 
who  had  run  up  the  poop  steps. 

"What  is  dis,  onnyway?  "  he  asked.  "  Mudiny, 
I  dink?  " 

"  Let  go,"  said  the  other,  furiously.  "  You  shall 
suffer  for  this,  you  scoundrels.  Let  go  of  my  arms." 
He  struggled  wildly;  but  Mr.  Hansen  was  strong. 

Mr.  Knapp  had  regained  his  feet  and  a  few  of  his 
faculties.  His  conqueror  was  senseless  on  the  deck, 
but  this  other  mutineer  was  still  active  in  rebellion. 
So,  while  the  approving  captain  looked  on  in  brass- 
knuckled  dignity,  he  sprang  forward  and  struck, 
with  strength  born  of  his  rage  and  humiliation,  again 
and  again  at  the  man  helpless  in  the  arms  of  Mr. 
Hansen,  until  his  battered  head  sank  supinely  back- 
ward, and  he  struggled  no  more.  Then  Mr.  Hansen 
dropped  him. 

"  Lay  aft,  here,  a  couple  o5  hands,"  thundered  the 
captain  from  the  break  of  the  poop,  and  two  awe- 
struck men  obeyed  him.  The  whole  crew  had  watched 
the  fracas  from  forward,  and  the  man  at  the  wheel 
had  looked  unspeakable  things ;  but  no  hand  or  voice 
had  been  raised  in  protest.  One  at  a  time  they  car- 
ried the  unconscious  men  to  the  forecastle;  then  the 


76  THE  WIGWAG  MESSAGE 

crew  mustered  aft  at  another  thundering  summons, 
and  listened  to  a  forceful  speech  by  Captain  Bacon, 
delivered  in  quick,  incisive  epigrams,  to  the  effect 
that  if  a  man  aboard  his  ship — whether  he  believed 
himself  shipped  or  shanghaied,  a  sailor,  a  priest,  a 
policeman,  or  a  dry-nurse — showed  the  slightest 
hesitation  at  obeying  orders,  or  the  slightest  resent- 
ment at  what  was  said  to  him,  he  would  be  punished 
with  fists,  brass  knuckles,  belaying-pins,  or  hand- 
spikes,— the  officers  were  here  for  that  purpose, — 
and  if  he  persisted,  he  would  be  shot  like  a  mad  dog. 
They  could  go  forward. 

They  went,  and  while  the  watch  on  deck,  under 
the  supervision  of  the  second  mate,  finished  coiling 
down  the  tow-line,  the  watch  below  finished  their 
breakfast,  and  when  the  stricken  ones  had  recovered 
consciousness,  advised  them,  unsympathetically,  to 
submit  and  make  the  best  of  it  until  the  ship  reached 
Hong-Kong,  where  they  could  all  "jump  her  "  and 
get  better  berths. 

"  For  if  ye  don't,"  concluded  an  Irishman,  "  I 
take  it  ye'll  die,  an'  take  sam  wan  of  us  wid  ye;  fur 
this  is  an  American  ship,  where  the  mates  are  hired 
fur  the  bigness  o'  their  fists  an'  the  hardness  o'  their 
hearts.  Look  pleasant,  now,  the  pair  o'  ye ;  an'  wan 
o'  ye  take  this  hash-kid  back  to  the  galley." 

The  larger  of  the  two  victims  sprang  to  his  feet. 
He  was  stained  and  disfigured  from  the  effects  of  the 
brass  knuckles,  and  he  looked  anything  but  "  pleas- 
ant." 

"  Say,  Irish,"  he  said  angrily,  "  do  you  know  who 
you're  talkin'  to?  Looks  as  though  you  don't.  I'm 
used  to  all  sorts  of  guff  from  all  sorts  of  men,  but 
Mr.  Breen,  here — " 


THE  WIGWAG  MESSAGE  77 

"  Johnson,"  interrupted  the  other,  "  wait — it's  of 
no  account  now.  This  man's  advice  is  sound.  No 
one  would  believe  us,  and  we  can  prove  nothing.  We 
are  thoroughly  helpless,  and  must  submit  until  we 
reach  a  consular  port,  or  something  happens.  Now, 
men,"  he  said  to  the  others,  "  my  name  is  Breen. 
Call  me  by  it.  You,  too,  Johnson.  I  yield  to  the 
inevitable,  and  will  do  my  share  of  the  work  as  well 
as  I  can.  If  I  make  mistakes,  don't  hesitate  to 
criticise,  and  post  me,  if  you  will.  I'll  be  grateful." 

"  But  I'll  tell  you  one  thing  to  start  with,"  said 
Johnson,  glaring  around  the  forecastle :  "  we'll  take 
turns  at  bringin'  grub  and  cleanin'  up  the  forecastle. 
Another  thing:  I've  sailed  in  these  wind-jammers 
enough  to  know  my  work ;  and  that's  more  than  you 
fellows  know,  by  the  looks  of  you.  I  don't  want  your 
instructions ;  but  Mr.  Breen,  here — Breen,  I  mean  " 
(a  gesture  from  the  other  hand  interrupted  him) — 
"  Breen's  forgotten  what  you  and  I  will  never  learn, 
though  he  might  not  be  used  to  pullin'  ropes  and 
swabbin'  paint-work.  If  I  find  one  o'  you  pesterin' 
him,  or  puttin'  up  any  jobs,  I'll  break  that  man's 
head;  understand  me?  Any  one  want  to  put  this 
thing  to  the  test,  now  ?  "  He  scanned  each  man's  face 
in  turn ;  but  none  showed  an  inclination  to  respond. 
They  had  seen  him  fight  the  big  first  mate.  "  There's 
not  the  makin'  of  a  whole  man  among  you,"  he  re- 
sumed. "  You  stand  still  while  three  men  do  up  two, 
when,  if  you  had  any  nerve,  Mr. — Breen,  here,  might 
be  aft,  'stead  o'  eatin'  cracker-hash  with  a  lot  o' 
dock-rats  and  beach-combers.  He's  had  better  play- 
mates; so've  I,  for  that  matter,  o'  late  years." 

"  Johnson,  keep  still,"  said  the  other.  "  It  doesn't 
matter  what  we  have  had,  who  we  were  or  might  be. 


78  THE  WIGWAG  MESSAGE 

We're  before  the  mast,  bound  for  Hong-Kong.  We 
may  find  a  consul  at  Anjer;  I'm  not  sure.  Mean- 
while, I'm  Breen,  and  you  are  Johnson,  and  it  is  no 
one's  business  what  we  have  been.  I'm  not  anxious  for 
this  matter  to  become  public.  I  can  explain  to  the 
department,  and  no  one  else  need  know." 

"Very  good,  sir." 

"  No ;  not  *  sir.'    Keep  that  for  our  superiors." 

Johnson  grumbled  a  little;  then  Mr.  Hansen's 
round  Swedish  face  appeared  at  the  door. 

"  Hi,  you  in  dere — you  big  feller — you  come  out. 
You  belong  in  der  utter  watch.  You  hear?  You 
come  out  on  deck,"  he  called. 

"  Aye,  aye,  sir,"  said  Johnson,  rising  sullenly. 

"All  the  better,  Johnson,"  whispered  Breen.  "  One 
can  keep  a  lookout  all  the  time.  Keep  your  eyes 
open  and  your  mouth  shut." 

So  for  these  two  men  the  work  of  the  voyage  be- 
gan. The  hard-headed,  aggressive  Johnson,  placed 
in  the  mate's  watch,  had  no  trouble  in  finding  his 
place,  and  keeping  it,  at  the  top  of  the  class.  He 
ruled  the  assorted  types  of  all  nations,  who  worked 
and  slept  with  him,  with  sound  logic  backed  by  a 
strong  arm  and  hard  fist,  never  trying  to  conceal 
his  contempt  for  them. 

"  You  mixed  nest  o'  mongrels,"  he  would  say,  at 
the  end  of  some  petty  squabble  which  he  had  settled 
for  them,  "  why  don't  you  stay  in  your  own  country 
ships?  Or,  if  you  must  sign  in  American  craft,  try 
to  feel  and  act  like  Americans.  It's  just  this  same 
yawping  at  one  another  in  the  forecastles  that  makes 
it  easy  for  the  buckoes  aft  to  hunt  you.  And  that's 
why  you  get  your  berths.  No  skipper'll  ship  an 
American  sailor  while  there's  a  Dutchman  left  in  the 


THE  WIGWAG  MESSAGE  79 

shippin'-office.  He  wouldn't  think  it  safe  to  go  to 
sea  with  too  many  American  sailors  forward  to  call 
him  down  and  make  him  treat  'em  decent.  He  picks 
a  Dago  here,  and  a  Dutchman  there,  and  all  the 
Sou'wegians  he  sees,  and  fills  in  with  the  rakin's  and 
scrapin's  o'  Hell,  Bedlam,  and  Newgate,  knowin' 
they'll  hate  one  another  worse  than  they  hate  him, 
and  never  stand  together." 

To  which  they  would  respond  in  kind,  though  of 
lesser  degree,  always  yielding  him  the  last  word 
when  he  spoke  it  loud  enough. 

But  Breen,  in  the  second  mate's  watch,  had  trouble 
with  his  fellows  at  first.  They  could  not  understand 
his  quiet,  gentlemanly  demeanor,  mistaking  it  for 
fear  of  them ;  so,  unknown  to  Johnson,  for  he  would 
not  complain,  they  subjected  him  to  all  the  petty 
annoyances  which  ignorance  may  inflict  upon  intelli- 
gence. Though  he  showed  a  theoretical  knowledge 
of  ships  and  the  sea  superior  to  any  they  had  met 
with,  he  was  not  their  equal  in  the  practical  work  of 
a  sailor.  He  was  awkward  at  pulling  ropes  with 
others,  placing  his  hands  in  the  wrong  place  and 
mixing  them  up  in  what  must  be  a  concerted  pull  to 
be  effective.  His  hands,  unused  to  labor,  became 
blistered  and  sore,  and  he  often,  unconsciously  per- 
haps, held  back  from  a  task,  to  save  himself  from 
pain.  He  was  an  indifferent  helmsman,  and  off 
Hatteras,  in  a  blow,  was  sent  from  the  wheel  in  dis- 
grace. He  did  not  know  the  ropes,  and  made  sad 
mistakes  until  he  had  mastered  the  lesson.  He  could 
box  the  compass,  in  his  own  way;  for  instance,  the 
quarter-points  between  north-northeast  and  north- 
east by  north  he  persisted  in  naming  from  the  first 
of  these  points  instead  of  from  the  other,  as  was  sea- 


80  THE  WIGWAG  MESSAGE 

manlike  and  proper;  and  the  same  with  the  corre- 
sponding sectors  in  the  other  quadrants.  Once,  at 
the  wheel,  when  the  ship  was  heading  southeast  by 
south  half-south,  he  had  been  asked  the  course,  and 
answered :  "  South-southeast  half -east,  sir."  For  this 
he  was  profanely  admonished  by  the  captain  and 
ridiculed  by  the  men.  Johnson  had  made  the  same 
mistake,  but  corrected  himself  in  time,  and  nothing 
was  said  about  it ;  but  Breen  was  bullied  and  badgered 
in  the  watch  below, — the  lubberly  nomenclature  be- 
coming a  byword  of  derision  and  contempt, — until, 
patience  leaving  him,  he  doubled  his  sore  fingers 
into  fists  one  dog-watch,  and  thrashed  the  Irishman — 
his  most  unforgiving  critic — so  quickly,  thoroughly, 
and  scientifically  that  persecution  ceased;  for  the 
Irishman  had  been  the  master  spirit  of  the  port  fore- 
castle. » 

But  the  captain  and  mates  were  not  won  over. 
Practical  Johnson — an  able  seaman  from  crown  to 
toe — knew  how  to  avoid  or  forestall  their  abuse;  but 
Breen  did  not.  The  very  presence  of  such  a  man  as 
he  before  the  mast  was  a  continuous  menace, — an 
insult  to  their  artificial  superiority, — and  they  as- 
sailed him  at  each  mistake  with  volleys  of  billings- 
gate that  brought  a  flush  to  his  fine  face  and  tears 
to  his  eyes ;  later,  a  deadly  paleness  that  would  have 
been  a  warning  to  tyrants  of  better  discrimination. 
Once  again,  while  being  rebuked  in  this  manner,  his 
self-control  left  him.  With  white  face  and  blazing 
eyes  he  darted  at  Mr.  Knapp,  and  had  almost  re- 
peated Johnson's  feat  on  the  poop  when  an  iron  be- 
laying-pin  in  the  hands  of  the  captain  descended 
upon  him  and  broke  his  left  arm.  Mr.  Knapp's  fists 
and  boots  completed  his  tutelage,  and  he  was  carried 


THE  WIGWAG  MESSAGE  81 

to  his  bunk  with  another  lesson  learned.  Johnson, 
svearing  the  while,  skilfully  set  the  broken  bones  and 
made  a  sling;  then,  by  tactful  wheedling  of  the 
steward,  secured  certain  necessaries  from  the  medi- 
cine-chest, with  hot  water  from  the  galley;  but  open 
assistance  was  refused  by  the  captain. 

Bieen,  scarcely  able  to  move,  held  to  his  bunk  for 
a  few  days;  then,  the  first  mild  skirts  of  the  trade- 
wind  being  reached,  the  mate  drove  him  to  the  wheel, 
to  steer  one-handed  through  the  day,  while  all  hands 
(in  the  afternoon)  worked  in  the  rigging.  But  the 
trade-wind  freshened,  and  his  strength  was  not  equal 
to  the  task  set  for  it.  With  the  men  all  aloft  and  the 
two  mates  forward,  the  ship  nearly  broached  to  one 
day,  and  only  the  opportune  arrival  of  Captain 
Bacon  on  deck  saved  the  spars.  He  seized  the  wheel, 
ground  it  up,  and  the  ship  paid  off;  then  a  whole 
man  was  called  to  relieve  him,  and  the  incompetent 
helmsman  was  promptly  and  properly  punished.  He 
was  kicked  off  the  poop,  and  his  arm,  as  a  conse- 
quence, needed  resetting. 

Johnson  had  been  aloft,  but  there  was  murder  in 
his  dark  eyes  when  he  came  down  at  supper-time. 
Yet  he  knew  its  futility,  and  while  bandaging  the 
broken  arm  earnestly  explained,  as  Breen's  groans 
would  allow,  that  if  he  killed  one  the  other  two  would 
kill  him,  and  nothing  would  be  gained.  "  For  they've 
brass  knuckles  in  their  pockets,  sir,"  he  said,  "  and 
pistols  under  their  pillows.  We  haven't  even  sheath- 
knives,  and  the  crew  wouldn't  help." 

Whereupon,  an  inspired  Russian  Finn  of  the  watch 
remarked :  "  If  a  man  know  his  work  an'  do  his  work, 
an'  gif  no  back  lip  to  te  mates,  he  get  no  trupple 
mit  te  mates.  In  my  country  ships — "  The  disser- 


82  THE  WIGWAG  MESSAGE 

tation  was  not  finished.  Johnson  silently  knocked 
him  down,  and  the  incident  closed. 

But  they  found  work  which  the  crippled  man  could 
do,  after  a  short  "  lying  up."  With  the  steward's 
washboard,  he  could  wash  the  captain's  soiled  linen, 
which  the  steward  would  afterward  wring  out  and 
hang  up.  He  refused  at  first,  but  was  duly  per- 
suaded, and  went  to  work  in  the  lee  scuppers  amid- 
ships. Johnson  made  a  detour  on  his  way  to  the 
main-rigging,  and  muttered :  "  Say  the  word,  sir,  and 
I'll  chance  it.  No  jury'd  convict." 

"  No,  no ;  go  aloft,  Johnson.  I'm  all  right,"  an- 
swered Breen,  as  he  bent  over  the  distasteful  task. 

Johnson  climbed  the  rigging  to  the  main-royal- 
yard,  which  he  was  to  scrape  for  reoiling,  and  had  no 
sooner  reached  it  than  he  sang  out: 

"  Sail  oh !  Dead  ahead,  sir.  Looks  like  an  ar- 
mored cruiser  o'  the  first  class." 

"  Armored  cruiser  o'  the  first  class  ?  "  muttered  the 
captain,  as  he  carried  his  binoculars  to  the  weather 
rail  and  looked  ahead.  "  More'n  I  can  make  out 
with  the  glasses." 

If  three  funnels,  two  masts,  two  bridges,  and  two 
sets  of  fighting-tops  indicate  an  armored  cruiser  of 
the  first  class,  Johnson  was  right.  These  the  on- 
coming craft  showed  plainly  even  at  seven  miles' 
distance.  Fifteen  minutes  later  she  was  storming  by, 
a  half-mile  to  windward ;  a  beautiful  picture,  long 
and  white,  with  an  incurving  ram-bow,  with  buff- 
colored  turrets  and  superstructure,  and  black  guns 
bristling  from  all  parts  of  her.  The  Stars  and 
Stripes  flew  from  the  flagstaff  at  the  stern;  white- 
clad  men  swarmed  about  her  decks,  and  one  of  them, 
on  the  forward  bridge,  close  to  a  group  of  officers, 


THE  WIGWAG  MESSAGE  83 

was  waving  by  its  staff  a  small  red-and-white  flag. 
Captain  Bacon  brought  out  the  American  ensign,  and 
with  his  own  hands  hoisted  it  to  the  monkey-gaff  on 
the  mizzen,  dipped  it  three  times  in  respectful  salute, 
and  left  it  at  the  gaff -end.  Then  he  looked  at  the 
cruiser,  as  every  man  on  board  was  doing  except  the 
man  washing  clothes  in  the  lee  scuppers.  His  business 
was  to  wash  clothes,  not  to  cross  a  broad  deck  and 
climb  a  high  rail  to  look  at  passing  craft ;  but,  as  he 
washed  away,  he  looked  furtively  aloft,  with  eyes  that 
sparkled,  at  the  man  on  the  mainroyalyard.  John- 
son was  standing  erect  on  the  small  spar,  holding  on 
with  his  left  hand  to  the  royal-pole, — certainly  the 
most  conspicuous  detail  of  the  whole  ship  to  the  eyes 
of  those  on  board  the  cruiser, — and  with  his  right 
hand  he  was  waving  his  cap  to  the  right  and  left, 
and  up  and  down.  There  was  method  in  his  motions, 
for  when  he  would  cease,  the  small  red-and-white  flag 
on  the  cruiser's  bridge  would  answer,  waving  to  the 
right  and  left,  and  up  and  down. 

A  secondary  gun  spoke  from  a  midship  sponson, 
and  Captain  Bacon  exclaimed  enthusiastically, 
"  Salutin'  the  flag,"  and  again  dipped  his  ensign. 
Then,  after  an  interval,  during  which  it  became  ap- 
parent that  the  cruiser  had  altered  her  course  to 
cross  the  ship's  stern,  there  was  seen  another  tongue 
of  flame  and  cloud  of  smoke,  and  something  seemed 
to  rush  through  the  air  ahead  of  the  ship.  But  it 
was  a  splash  of  water  far  off  on  the  lee  bow  which 
really  apprised  them  that  the  gun  was  shotted.  At 
the  same  time  a  string  of  small  flags  arose  to  the 
signal-yard,  and  when  Captain  Bacon  had  found  this 
combination  in  his  code-book,  he  read  with  amaze- 
ment :  "  Heave  to  or  take  the  consequences."  By 


84  THE  WIGWAG  MESSAGE 

this  time  the  cruiser  was  squarely  across  his  wake, 
most  certainly  rounding  to  for  an  interview. 

"  Heave  to  or  take  the  consequences  I "  he  ex- 
claimed. "  And  he's  firin'  on  us.  Down  from  aloft, 
all  hands !  "  he  roared  upward ;  then  he  seized  the 
answering  pennant  from  the  flag-locker  and  displayed 
it  from  the  rail,  begrudging  the  time  needful  to  hoist 
it.  The  men  were  sliding  to  the  deck  on  backstays 
and  running-gear,  and  the  mates  were  throwing 
down  coils  of  rope  from  the  belaying-pins. 

"  Man  both  main  clue-garnets,  some  o*  you ! " 
yelled  the  captain.  "  Clue  up !  Weather  main- 
braces,  the  rest  o*  you!  Slack  away  to  looward! 
Round  wi'  the  yards,  you  farmers — round  wi'  'em! 
Down  wi'  the  wheel,  there !  Bring  her  up  three  points 
and  hold  her.  H — 1  an'  blazes,  what's  he  firin'  on  me 
for?" 

Excitedly,  the  men  obeyed  him ;  they  were  not  used 
to  gun  fire,  and  it  is  certainly  exciting  to  be  shot  at. 
Conspicuous  among  them  was  Johnson,  who  pulled 
and  hauled  lustily,  shouting  exuberantly  the  formless 
calls  which  sailors  use  in  pulling  ropes,  and  smiling 
sardonically.  In  five  minutes  from  the  time  of  the 
second  gun  the  yards  were  backed,  and,  with  weather 
leeches  trembling,  the  ship  lay  "hove  to,"  drifting 
bodily  to  leeward.  The  cruiser  had  stopped  her 
headway,  and  a  boat  had  left  her  side.  There  were 
ten  men  at  the  oars,  a  coxswain  at  the  yoke-ropes, 
and  with  him  in  the  stern-sheets  a  young  man  in  an 
ensign's  uniform,  who  lifted  his  voice  as  the  boat 
neared  the  lee  quarter,  and  shouted:  "Rig  a  side- 
ladder  aboard  that  ship !  " 

He  was  hardly  more  than  a  boy,  but  he  wa»  obeyed ; 
not  only  the  side-bidder,  but  the  gangway  steps  were 


THE  WIGWAG  MESSAGE  85 

rigged;  and  leaving  the  coxswain  and  bow  oarsman 
to  care  for  the  boat,  the  young  officer  climbed  aboard, 
followed  by  the  rest — nine  muscular  man-of-war's- 
men,  each  armed  with  cutlass  and  pistol,  one  of  them 
carrying  a  hand-bag,  another  a  bundle.  Captain 
Bacon,  as  became  his  position,  remained  upon  the 
poop  to  receive  his  visitor,  while  the  two  mates  stood 
at  the  main  fife-rail,  and  the  ship's  crew  clustered 
forward.  Johnson,  alert  and  attentive,  stood  a  little 
in  the  van,  and  the  man  in  the  lee  scuppers  still 
washed  clothes. 

"  What's  the  matter,  young  man  ?  "  asked  the  cap- 
tain from  the  break  of  the  poop,  with  as  much  of 
dignity  as  his  recent  agitation  would  permit.  "  Why 
do  you  stop  my  ship  on  the  high  seas  and  board  her 
with  an  armed  boat's  crew?  " 

"  You  have  an  officer  and  seaman  of  the  navy  on 
board  this  ship,"  answered  the  ensign,  who  had  been 
looking  about  irresolutely.  "  Produce  them  at  once, 
if  you  please." 

*'  What — what — "  stuttered  the  captain,  descend- 
ing the  poop  steps ;  but  before  more  was  said  there 
was  a  sound  from  forward  as  of  something  hard 
striking  something  heavy,  and  as  they  looked  they 
saw  Captain  Bacon's  bucket  of  clothes  sailing 
diagonally  over  the  lee  rail,  scattering  a  fountain  of 
soapy  water  as  it  whirled;  his  late  laundryman  com- 
ing toward  them  with  head  erect,  as  though  he  might 
have  owned  the  ship  and  himself;  and  Johnson,  limp- 
ing slightly,  making  for  the  crowd  of  blue- jackets  at 
the  gangway.  With  these  he  fraternized  at  once, 
telling  them  things  in  a  low  voice,  and  somewhat  pro- 
fanely, while  the  two  mates  at  the  fife-rail  eyed  him 
reprovingly,  brat  did  not  interrupt. 


86  THE  WIGWAG  MESSAGE 

Breen  advanced  to  the  ensign,  and  said,  as  he  ex- 
tended his  hand :  "I  am  Lieutenant  Breen.  Did  you 
bring  the  clothing?  This  is  an  extremely  fortunate 
meeting  for  me ;  but  I  can  thank  you — you  and  your 
brother  officers — much  more  gracefully  aboard  the 
cruiser." 

The  officer  took  the  extended  hand  gingerly,  with 
suspicion  in  his  eyes.  Perhaps,  if  it  had  not  been 
thoroughly  clean  from  its  late  friction  with  soap  and 
water,  he  might  have  declined  taking  it ;  for  there 
was  nothing  in  the  appearance  of  the  haggard, 
ragged  wreck  before  him  to  indicate  the  naval  officer. 

"  There  is  some  mistake,"  he  said,  coldly.  "  I  am 
well  acquainted  with  Lieutenant  Breen,  and  you  are 
certainly  not  he." 

Breen's  face  flushed  hotly,  but  before  he  could  re- 
ply, the  captain  broke  in. 

"Some  mistake,  hey?"  said  he,  derisively.  "I 
guess  there  is — another  mistake — another  bluff  that 
don't  go.  Get  out  o'  here;  and  I  tell  you  now,  blast 
yer  hide,  that  if  you  make  me  any  more  trouble 
'board  my  ship  yer  liable  to  go  over  the  side  feet  first, 
with  a  shackle  to  yer  heels.  And  you,  young  man," 
he  stormed,  turning  to  the  ensign,  "  you  look  round, 
if  you  like.  There's  my  crew.  All  the  navy  officers 
you  find  you  can  have,  and  welcome  to  'em."  He 
turned  his  back,  stamped  a  few  paces  along  the  deck, 
and  returned,  working  himself  into  a  fury. 

Breen  had  not  moved,  but,  with  a  slight  sparkle 
to  his  eyes,  said  to  the  young  officer: 

"  I  think,  sir,  that  if  you  take  the  trouble  to  inves- 
tigate, you  will  be  satisfied.  There  are  two  Breens 
in  the  navy.  You  know  one,  evidently;  I  am  the 
other.  Lieutenant  William  Breen  is  on  shore  duty  at 


THE  WIGWAG  MESSAGE  8ff 

Washington,  1  think.  Lieutenant  John  Breen,  lately 
in  command  of  the  torpedo-boat  Wainwright,  with 
his  signalman,  Thomas  Johnson,  are  shanghaied  on 
board  this  ship.  There  is  Johnson  talking  to  your 
men." 

The  young  man's  face  changed,  and  his  hand  went 
to  his  cap  in  salute ;  but  the  mischief  was  done.  Cap- 
tain Bacon's  indignation  was  at  bursting-pressure, 
and  his  mind  in  no  condition  to  respond  readily  to 
new  impressions.  He  was  captain  of  the  ship,  and 
grossly  affronted.  Johnson,  noting  his  purple  face, 
wisely  reached  for  a  topsail-brace  belaying-pin,  and 
stepped  toward  him ;  for  he  now  towered  over  Breen, 
cursing  with  volcanic  energy. 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  to  go  forrard?  "  he  roared, 
drawing  back  his  powerful  fist. 

Breen  stood  his  ground ;  the  officer  raised  his  hand 
and  half  drew  his  sword,  while  the  blue-jackets 
sprang  forward;  but  it  was  Johnson's  belaying-pin 
which  stopped  that  mighty  fist  in  mid-passage.  It 
was  an  iron  club,  eighteen  inches  long  by  an  inch 
and  a  half  diameter;  and  Johnson,  strong  man 
though  he  was,  used  it  two-handed.  It  struck  the 
brawny  forearm  just  above  the  wrist  with  a  crashing 
sound,  and  seemed  to  sink  in.  Captain  Bacon  al- 
most fell,  but  recovered  his  balance,  and,  holding  the 
broken  bones  together,  staggered  toward  the  booby- 
hatch  for  support.  He  groaned  in  pain,  but  did  not 
curse ;  for  it  requires  a  modicum  of  self-respect  for 
this,  and  Captain  Bacon's  self-respect  was  completely 
shocked  out  of  him. 

But  Mr.  Knapp  and  Mr.  Hansen  still  respected 
themselves,  and  were  coming. 

"You  keep  back,  there — you  two,"  yelled  John- 


88  THE  WIGWAG  MESSAGE 

son,  excitedly.  "  Stand  by  here,  mates.  These 
buckoes'll  kill  some  one  yet.  Look  out  for  their  brass 
knuckles  and  guns." 

And  the  two  officers  halted.  They  had  no  desire 
to  assert  themselves  before  nine  scowling,  armed  men, 
an  angry  and  aggressive  mutineer  with  a  belaying- 
pin,  and  a  rather  confused,  but  wakening,  young 
officer  with  drawn  sword.  Johnson  backed  toward 
the  latter. 

"  Don't  you  know  me,  Mr.  Bronson,"  he  said — 
"  Tom  Johnson,  cocks'n  o'  the  gig  on  your  practice- 
cruise?  'Member  me,  sir?  This  is  Lieutenant  Breen 
— take  my  word,  sir." 

"  Yes — yes — I  understand,"  said  the  ensign,  with 
a  face  redder  than  Breen's  had  been.  "  I  really  beg 
your  pardon,  Mr.  Breen.  It  was  inexcusable  in  me, 
I  know — but — I  had  expected  to  see  a  different  face, 
and — and — we're  three  months  out  from  Hong-Kong, 
you  see — " 

Breen  smiled,  and  interrupted  with  a  gesture. 

"  No  time  for  explanations,  Mr.  Bronson,"  said 
he,  kindly.  "  Did  you  bring  the  clothes  ?  Thought- 
ful of  Johnson  to  ask  for  them,  wasn't  it  ?  It  really 
would  be  embarrassing  to  join  your  ship  in  this  rig. 
In  the  grip  and  bundle?  All  right.  Form  your  men 
across  the  deck,  please,  forward  of  the  cabin.  Keep 
these  brutes  away  from  us  while  we  change.  Come, 
Johnson." 

Taking  the  hand-bag  and  the  bundle,  they  brazenly 
entered  the  cabin  by  the  forward  door.  In  ten 
minutes  they  emerged,  Johnson  clad  in  the  blue  rig 
of  a  man-of-war's-man,  Breen  in  the  undress  uniform 
of  an  officer,  his  crippled  arm  buttoned  into  the  coat. 
As  they  stepped  toward  the  gangway,  Captain  Bacon, 


THE  WIGWAG  MESSAGE  89 

pale  and  perspiring,  wheezing  painfully,  entered  the 
cabin  and  passed  out  of  their  lives.  The  steward 
followed  at  his  heels,  and  the  two  mates,  with  curi- 
ously working  faces,  approached  Breen. 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Knapp,  "  but  I  want 
to  say  that  I  had  no  notion  o'  this  at  all ;  and  I  hope 
you  won't  make  no  trouble  for  me  ashore." 

Breen,  one  foot  on  the  steps  while  he  waited  for 
the  blue-jackets  to  file  over  the  side,  eyed  him 
thoughtfully. 

"No,"  he  said,  slowly.  "I  hardly  think,  Mr. 
Knapp,  that  I  shall  exert  myself  to  make  trouble  for 
you  personally,  or  for  the  other  two.  There  is  a 
measure  now  before  Congress  which,  if  it  passes,  will 
legislate  brutes  like  you  and  your  captain  off  the 
American  quarter-deck  by  its  educational  condi- 
tions. This,  with  a  consideration  for  your  owners,  is 
what  permits  you  to  continue  this  voyage,  instead  of 
going  back  to  the  United  States  in  irons.  But  if 
I  had  the  power,"  he  added,  looking  at  the  beautiful 
flag  still  flying  at  the  gaff,  "  I  would  lower  that  en- 
sign, and  forbid  you  to  hoist  it.  It  is  the  flag  of  a 
free  country,  and  should  not  float  over  slave-ships." 

He  mounted  the  steps,  and,  assisted  by  the  young 
officer  and  Johnson,  descended  to  the  boat ;  but  be- 
fore Johnson  went  down,  he  peered  over  the  rail  at 
the  two  mates,  grinning  luridly. 

"  And  I'll  promise  you,"  he  said,  "  that  I'm  always 
willing  to^make  trouble  for  you,  ashore  or  afloat, 
and  wish  I  had  a  little  more  time  for  it  now.  And 
you  can  tell  your  skipper,  if  you  like,  in  case  he  don't 
know  it,  that  he  got  smashed  with  the  same  club  that 
he  used  on  Mr.  Breen,  and  I'm  only  d — d  sorry  I 
didn't  bring  it  down  on  his  head.  So  long,  you 


90  THE  WIGWAG  MESSAGE 

bloody-minded  hell-drivers.  See  you  again  some 
day." 

He  descended,  and  Mr.  Knapp  gave  the  order  to 
brace  the  yards. 

"  Give  a  good  deal,"  he  mused,  as  the  men  manned 
the  braces,  "  to  know  just  how  they  got  news  to  that 
cruiser.  Homeward  bound  from  Hong-Kong — three 
months  out.  Couldn't  ha'  been  sent  after  us." 

But  he  never  learned. 


THE   TRADE-WIND 

THE  orgy  was  finished.  The  last  sea-song  had 
resounded  over  the  smooth  waters  of  the  bay; 
the  last  drunken  shout,  oath,  and  challenge  were 
voiced ;  the  last  fight  ended  in  helplessness  and  maud- 
lin amity,  and  the  red-shirted  men  were  sprawled 
around  on  the  moonlit  deck,  snoring.  Though  the 
barrel  of  rum  broached  on  the  main-hatch  was  but 
slightly  lowered,  their  sleep  was  heavy;  scurvy- 
tainted  men  at  the  end  of  a  Cape  Horn  passage  may 
not  drink  long  or  deeply.  Some  lay  as  they  fell — 
face  upward;  others  on  their  sides  for  a  while,  then 
to  roll  over  on  their  backs  and  so  remain  until  the 
sleep  was  done;  for  in  no  other  position  may  the 
human  body  rest  easy  on  a  hard  bed  with  no  pillow. 
And  as  they  slept  through  the  tropic  night  the  full 
moon  in  the  east  rose  higher  and  higher,  passed  over- 
head and  disappeared  behind  a  thickening  haze  in 
the  western  sky;  but  before  it  had  crossed  the  me- 
ridian its  cold,  chemical  rays  had  worked  disas- 
trously on  the  eyes  of  the  sleeping  men. 

Captain  Swarth,  prone  upon  the  poop-deck,  was 
the  first  to  waken.  There  was  pain  in  his  head,  pain 
in  his  eyes, — which  were  swollen, — and  a  whistling 
tumult  of  sound  in  his  ears  coming  from  the  Pluto- 
nian darkness  surrounding  him,  while  a  jarring  vibra- 
tion of  the  deck  beneath  him  apprised  his  awakening 
brain  that  the  anchor  was  dragging.  As  he  staggered 
to  his  feet  a  violent  pressure  of  wind  hurled  him 
against  the  wheel,  to  which  he  clung,  staring  into 
the  blackness  to  windward. 
91 


92  THE  TRADE-WIND 

"All  hands,  there!"  he  roared.  "Up  with  you 
all !  Go  forward  and  pay  out  on  the  chain !  " 

Shouts,  oaths,  and  growls  answered  him,  and  he 
heard  the  nasal  voice  of  his  mate  repeating  his  order. 
"Angel,"  he  called,  "  get  the  other  anchor  over  and 
give  her  all  of  both  chains." 

"  Aye,  aye,  sir,"  answered  the  mate.  "  Send  a 
lantern  forrard,  Bill.  Can't  see  our  noses." 

"Steward,"  yelled  the  captain,  "where  are  you? 
Light  up  a  deck-lantern  and  the  binnacle.  Bear  a 
hand." 

He  heard  the  steward's  voice  close  to  him,  and  the 
sound  of  the  binnacle  lights  being  removed  from  their 
places,  then  the  opening  and  closing  of  the  cabin 
companionway.  He  could  see  nothing,  but  knew  that 
the  steward  had  gone  below  to  his  store-room.  In  a 
minute  more  a  shriek  came  from  the  cabin.  It  rang 
out  again  and  again,  and  soon  sounded  from  the  com- 
panionway :  "  I'm  blind,  I'm  blind,  capt'n.  I  can't 
see.  I  lit  the  lantern  and  burned  my  fingers ;  but  I 
can't  see  the  light.  I'm  blind."  The  steward's 
voice  ended  in  a  howl. 

"  Shut  up,  you  blasted  fool,"  answered  Captain 
Swarth ;  "  get  down  there  and  light  up." 

"  Where's  that  light  ?  "  came  the  mate's  voice  in 
a  yell  from  amidships.  "  Shank-painter's  jammed, 
Bill.  Can't  do  a  thing  without  a  light." 

"  Come  aft  here  and  get  it.     Steward's  drunk." 

The  doors  in  the  forward  part  of  the  cabin 
slammed,  and  the  mate's  profanity  mingled  with  the 
protest  of  the  steward  in  the  cabin.  Then  shouts 
came  from  forward,  borne  on  the  gale,  and  soon  fol- 
lowed by  the  shuffling  of  feet  as  the  men  groped  their 
way  aft  and  climbed  the  poop  steps. 


THE  TRADE-WIND  93 

"  We're  stone-blind,  cappen,"  they  wailed.  "  We 
lit  the  fo'c'sle  lamp,  an'  it  don't  show  up.  We  can'l 
see  it.  Nobody  can  see  it.  We're  all  blind." 

"  Come  down  here,  Bill,"  called  the  mate  from  be- 
low. 

As  Captain  Swarth  felt  his  way  down  the  stairs  a 
sudden  shock  stilled  the  vibrations  caused  by  the 
dragging  anchor,  and  he  knew  that  the  chain  had 
parted. 

"  Stand  by  on  deck,  Angel ;  we're  adrift,"  he  said. 
"  It's  darker  than  ten  thousand  black  cats.  What's 
the  matter  with  you  ?  " 

"  Can  you  see  the  light,  Bill?  I  can't.  I'm  blind 
as  the  steward,  or  I'm  drunker." 

"No.  Is  it  lit?  Where?  The  men  say  they're 
blind,  too." 

"  Here,  forrard  end  o'  the  table." 

The  captain  reached  this  end,  searched  with  his 
hands,  and  burned  them  on  the  hot  glass  of  a  lan- 
tern. He  removed  the  bowl  and  singed  the  hair  on 
his  wrists.  The  smell  came  to  his  nostrils. 

"I'm  blind,  too,"  he  groaned.  "Angel,  it's  the 
moon.  We're  moonstruck — moonblind.  And  we're 
adrift  in  a  squall.  Steward,"  he  said  as  he  made  his 
way  toward  the  stairs,  "  light  the  binnacle,  and  stop 
that  whining.  Maybe  some  one  can  see  a  little." 

When  he  reached  the  deck  he  called  to  the  men, 
growling,  cursing,  and  complaining  on  the  poop. 
"  Down  below  with  you  all !  "  he  ordered.  "  Pass 
through  and  out  the  forrard  door.  If  any  man  sees 
the  light  on  the  cabin  table,  let  that  man  sing  out." 

They  obeyed  him.  Twenty  men  passed  through 
the  cabin  and  again  climbed  the  poop  stairs,  their 
lamentations  still  troubling  the  night.  But  not  one 


94  THE  TRADE-WIND 

had  seen  the  lantern.  Some  said  that  they  could  not 
open  their  eyes  at  all;  some  complained  that  their 
faces  were  swollen ;  others  that  their  mouths  were 
twisted  up  to  where  their  ears  should  be;  and  one 
man  averred  that  he  could  not  breathe  through  his 
nose. 

"It'll  only  last  a  few  days,  boys,"  said  the  cap- 
tain, bravely ;  "  we  shouldn't  have  slept  in  the  moon- 
light in  these  latitudes.  Drop  the  lead  over,  one  of 
you — weather  side.  The  devil  knows  where  we're 
drifting,  and  the  small  anchor  won't  hold  now ;  we'll 
save  it."  Captain  Swarth  was  himself  again. 

But  not  so  his  men.  They  had  become  children, 
with  children's  fear  of  the  dark.  Even  the  doughty 
Angel  Todd  was  oppressed  by  the  first  horror  of  the 
situation,  speaking  only  when  spoken  to.  Above 
the  rushing  sound  of  wind  and  the  smacking  of  short 
seas  could  be  heard  the  voice  of  the  steward  in  the 
cabin,  while  an  occasional  heart-borne  malediction  or 
groan — according  to  temperament — added  to  the 
distraction  on  deck.  One  man,  more  self-possessed 
than  the  rest,  had  dropped  the  lead  over  the  side.  An 
able  seaman  needs  no  eyes  to  heave  the  lead. 

"  A  quarter  six,"  he  sang  out,  and  then,  plain- 
tively: "We'll  fetch  up  on  the  Barrier,  capt'n. 
S'pose  we  try  an'  get  the  other  hook  over." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  chorused  some  of  the  braver  spirits. 
"  It  may  hold.  We  don't  want  to  drown  on  the  reef. 
Let's  get  it  over.  Chain's  overhauled." 

"  Let  the  anchor  alone,"  roared  the  captain.  "  No 
anchor-chain'll  hold  in  this.  Keep  that  lead  a-going, 
Tom  Plate,  if  it's  you.  What  bottom  do  you  find?  " 

"  Quarter  less  six,"  called  the  leadsman.  "  Soft 
bottom.  We're  shoaling." 


THE  TRADE-WIND  95 

"Angel,"  said  the  captain  to  his  mate,  who  stood 
close  to  him,  "  we're  blowing  out  the  south  channel. 
We've  been  drifting  long  enough  to  fetch  up  on  the 
reef  if  it  was  in  our  way.  There's  hard  bottom  in 
the  north  channel,  and  the  twenty-fathom  lead 
wouldn't  reach  it  half  a  length  from  the  rocks." 

The  mate  had  nothing  to  say. 

"And  the  south  channel  lay  due  southeast  from 
our  moorings,"  continued  the  captain.  "  Wind's 
nor'west,  I  should  say,  right  down  from  the  hilltops ; 
and  I've  known  these  blasted  West  India  squalls  to 
last  three  days,  blowing  straight  and  hard.  This  has 
the  smell  of  a  gale  in  it  already.  Keep  that  lead 
a-going,  there." 

"  No  bottom,"  answered  the  leadsman. 

"Good  enough,"  said  the  captain,  cheerfully. 

"  No  bottom,"  was  called  repeatedly,  until  the 
captain  sang  out :  "  That'll  do  the  lead."  Then  the 
leadsman  coiled  up  the  line,  and  they  heard  his  rasp- 
ing, unpleasant  voice,  cursing  softly  but  fiercely  to 
himself.  Captain  Swarth  descended  the  stairs,  si- 
lenced the  steward  with  a  blow,  felt  of  the  clock 
hands,  secured  his  pistols,  and  returned  to  the  deck. 

"We're  at  sea,"  he  said.  "Two  hands  to  the 
wheel.  Loose  and  set  the  foretopmast-staysails  and 
the  foretopsail.  Staysail  first.  Let  a  man  stay  in  the 
slings  to  square  the  yard  by  the  feel  as  it  goes 
up." 

"What  for?"  they  answered,  complainingly. 
"What  ye  goin'  to  do?  We  can't  see.  Why  didn't 
you  bring  to  when  you  had  bottom  under  you?  " 

"No  arguments!"  yelled  Swarth.  "Forward 
with  you.  What  are  you  doing  on  the  poop,  anyway? 
If  you  can't  see,  you  can  feel,  and  what  more  do  you 


96  THE  TRADE-WIND 

want?  Jump,  now.  Set  that  head-sail  and  get  her 
'fore  the  wind — quick,  or  I'll  drop  some  of  you." 

They  knew  their  captain,  and  they  knew  the  ropes 
—on  the  blackest  of  dark  nights.  Blind  men  climbed 
aloft,  and  felt  for  foot-ropes  and  gaskets.  Blind 
men  on  deck  felt  for  sheets,  halyards,  and  braces,  and 
in  ten  minutes  the  sails  were  set,  and  the  brig  was 
charging  wildly  along  before  the  gale,  with  two  blind 
men  at  the  wheel  endeavoring  to  keep  her  straight  by 
the  right  and  left  pressure  of  the  wind  on  their  faces. 

"  Keep  the  wind  as  much  on  the  port  quarter  as 
you  can  without  broaching  to,"  yelled  the  captain 
in  their  ears,  and  they  answered  and  did  their  best. 
She  was  a  clean-lined  craft  and  steered  easily;  yet 
the  off-shore  sea  which  was  rising  often  threw  her 
around  until  nearly  in  the  trough.  The  captain  re- 
mained by  them,  advising  and  encouraging. 

"Where're  ye  goin',  Bill?"  asked  the  mabe, 
weakly,  as  he  scrambled  up  to  him. 

"  Right  out  to  sea,  and,  unless  we  get  our  eyes 
back  soon,  right  across  to  the  Bight  of  Benin,  three 
thousand  miles  from  here.  We've  no  business  on  this 
coast  in  this  condition.  What  ails  you,  Angel?  Lost 
your  nerve?  " 

"  Mebbe,  Bill."  The  mate's  voice  was  hoarse  and 
strained.  "  This  is  new  to  me.  I'm  falling — falling 
—all  the  time." 

"  So  am  I.  Brace  up.  We'll  get  used  to  it.  Get 
a  couple  of  hands  aft  and  heave  the  log.  We  take 
our  departure  from  Kittredge  Point,  Barbados 
Island,  at  six  o'clock  this  morning  of  the  10th  Oc- 
tober. We'll  keep  a  Geordie's  log-book — with  a  j  ack- 
knife  and  a  stick." 

They  hove  the  log  for  him.     It  was  marked  for  a 


THE  TRADE-WIND  97 

now  useless  28-second  sand-glass,  which  Captain 
Swarth  replaced  by  a  spare  chronometer,  held  to  his 
ear  in  the  companionway.  It  ticked  even  seconds,  and 
when  twenty-eight  of  them  had  passed  he  called, 
"  Stop."  The  markings  on  the  line  that  had  slipped 
through  the  mate's  fingers  indicated  an  eight-knot 
speed. 

"  Seven,  allowing  for  wild  steering,"  said  the  cap- 
tain when  he  had  stowed  away  his  chronometer  and 
returned  to  the  deck.  "  Angel,  we  know  we're  going 
about  sou'east  by  east,  seven  knots.  There's  prac- 
tically no  variation  o'  the  compass  in  these  seas,  and 
that  course'll  take  us  clear  of  Cape  St.  Roque.  Just 
as  fast  as  the  men  can  stand  it  at  the  wheel,  we'll  pile 
on  canvas  and  get  all  we  can  out  o'  this  good  wind. 
If  it  takes  us  into  the  southeast  trades,  well  and  good. 
We  can  feel  our  way  across  on  the  trade-wind — un- 
less we  hit  something,  of  course.  You  see,  it  blows 
almost  out  of  the  east  on  this  side,  and'll  haul  more 
to  the  sou'east  and  south'ard  as  we  get  over.  By 
the  wind  first,  then  we'll  square  away  as  we  need  to. 
We'U  know  the  smell  o'  the  trades— nothing  like  it 
on  earth — and  the  smell  o'  the  Gold  Coast,  Ivory 
Coast,  Slave  Coast,  and  the  Kameruns.  And  I'll  lay 
odds  we  can  feel  the  heat  o'  the  sun  in  the  east  and 
west  enough  to  make  a  fair  guess  at  the  course.  But 
it  won't  come  to  that.  Some  of  us'll  be  able  to  see 
pretty  soon." 

It  was  wild  talk,  but  the  demoralized  mate  needed 
encouraging.  He  answered  with  a  steadier  voice: 
"  Lucky  we  got  in  grub  and  water  yesterday." 

"  Right  you  are,  Angel.  Now,  in  case  this  holds 
on  to  us,  why,  we'll  find  some  of  our  friends  over  in 
the  Bight,  and  they'll  know  by  our  rig  that  some- 


98  THE  TRADE-WIND 

thing's  wrong.  Flanders  is  somewhere  on  the  track, 
— you  know  he  went  back  to  the  nigger  business, — 
and  Chink  put  a  slave-deck  in  his  hold  down  Rio 
way  last  spring.  And  old  man  Slack — I  did  him  a 
service  when  I  crippled  the  corvette  that  was  after 
him,  and  he's  grateful.  Hope  we'll  meet  him.  I'd 
rather  meet  Chink  than  Flanders  in  the  dark,  and 
I'd  trust  a  Javanese  trader  before  either.  If  either 
of  them  come  aboard  we'll  be  ready  to  use  their 
eyes  for  our  benefit,  not  let  'em  use  ours  for 
theirs.  Flanders  once  said  he  liked  the  looks  of  this 
brig." 

"  S'pose  we  run  foul  of  a  bulldog?  " 
"We'll  have  to  chance  it.  This  coast's  full  o' 
them,  too.  Great  guns,  man!  Would  you  drift 
around  and  do  nothing?  Anywhere  east  of  due 
south  there's  no  land  nearer  than  Cape  Orange,  and 
that's  three  hundred  and  fifty  miles  from  here.  Be- 
ginning to-morrow  noon,  we'll  take  deep-sea  sound- 
ings until  we  strike  the  trade-wind." 

The  negro  cook  felt  his  way  through  the  prepar- 
ing of  meals  and  served  them  on  time.  The  watches 
were  set,  and  sail  was  put  on  the  brig  as  fast  as  the 
men  became  accustomed  to  the  new  way  of  steering, 
those  relieved  always  imparting  what  they  had 
learned  to  their  successors.  Before  nightfall  on  that 
first  day  they  were  scudding  under  foresail,  topsail 
and  topgallantsail  and  maintopsail,  with  the  spanker 
furled  as  useless,  and  the  jib  adding  its  aid  to  the 
foretopmast-staysail  in  keeping  the  brig  before  the 
quartering  seas  which  occasionally  climbed  aboard. 
The  bowsprit  light  was  rigged  nightly ;  they  hove 
the  log  every  two  hours ;  and  Captain  Swarth  made 
scratches  and  notches  on  the  sliding-hood  of  the 


THE  TRADE-WIND  99 

companionway,  while  careful  to  wind  his  chronometer 
daily. 

But,  in  spite  of  the  cheer  of  his  indomitable  cour- 
age and  confidence,  his  men,  with  the  exception  of  a 
few,  dropped  into  a  querulous,  whining  discontent. 
Mr.  Todd,  spurred  by  his  responsibility,  gradually 
came  around  to  something  like  his  old  arbitrary  self. 
Yank  Tate,  the  carpenter,  maintained  through  it  all 
a  patient  faith  in  the  captain,  and,  in  so  far  as  his 
influence  could  be  felt,  acted  as  a  foil  to  the  irascible, 
fault-finding  Tom  Plate,  the  forecastle  lawyer,  the 
man  who  had  been  at  the  lead-line  at  Barbados.  But 
the  rest  of  them  were  dazed  and  nerveless,  too  shaken 
in  brain  and  body  to  consider  seriously  Tom's  propo- 
sition to  toss  the  afterguard  overboard  and  beach  the 
brig  on  the  South  American  coast,  where  they  could 
get  fresh  liver  of  shark,  goat,  sheep,  or  bullock,  which 
even  a  "nigger  "  knew  was  the  only  cure  for  moon- 
blindness. 

They  had  not  yet  recovered  from  the  unaccustomed 
debauch;  their  clouded  brains  seemed  too  large  for 
their  skulls,  and  their  eyeballs  ached  in  their  sockets, 
while  they  groped  tremblingly  from  rope  to  rope  at 
the  behest  of  the  captain  or  mate. 

So  Tom  marked  himself  for  future  attention  by 
insolent  and  disapproving  comments  on  the  orders 
of  his  superiors,  and  a  habit  of  moving  swiftly  to 
another  part  of  the  deck  directly  he  had  spoken, 
which  prevented  the  blind  and  angry  captain  from 
finding  him  in  the  crowd. 

Dim  as  must  have  been  the  light  of  day  through 
the  pelting  rain  and  storm-cloud,  it  caused  increased 
pain  in  their  eyes,  and  they  bound  them  with  their 
neckerchiefs,  applying  meanwhile  such  remedies  as 


100  THE  TRADE-WIND 

forecastle  lore  could  suggest.  The  captain  derided 
these  remedies,  but  frankly  confessed  his  ignorance 
of  anything  but  time  as  a  means  of  cure.  And  so 
they  existed  and  suffered  through  a  three  days'  damp 
gale  and  a  fourth  day's  dead  calm,  when  the  brig 
rolled  scuppers  under  with  all  sail  set,  ready  for  the 
next  breeze.  It  came,  cool,  dry,  and  faint  at  first, 
then  brisker — the  unmistakable  trade-wind.  They 
boxed  the  brig  about  and  braced  sharp  on  the  star- 
board tack,  steering  again  by  the  feel  of  the  wind 
and  the  rattling  of  shaking  leeches  aloft.  The  re- 
moval of  bandages  to  ascertain  the  sun's  position  by 
sense  of  light  or  increase  of  pain  brought  agonized 
howls  from  the  experimenters,  and  this  deterred  the 
rest.  Not  even  by  its  warmth  could  they  locate  it. 
It  was  overhead  at  noon  and  useless  as  a  guide.  In 
the  early  morning,  and  late  afternoon,  when  it  might 
have  indicated  east  and  west,  its  warmth  was  over- 
come by  the  coolness  of  the  breeze.  So  they  steered 
on  blindly,  close-hauled  on  the  starboard  tack,  nearly 
as  straight  a  course  as  though  they  were  whole  men. 

They  took  occasional  deep-sea  soundings  with  the 
brig  shaking  in  the  wind,  but  found  no  bottom,  and 
at  the  end  of  fifteen  days  a  longer  heave  to  the 
ground-swell  was  evidence  to  Captain  Swarth's  mind 
that  he  was  passing  Cape  St.  Roque,  and  the  sound- 
ings were  discontinued. 

"No  use  bothering  about  St.  Paul  Rocks  or  the 
Rocas,  Angel,"  said  he.  "  They  rise  out  o'  the  deep 
sea,  and  if  we're  to  hit,  soundings  won't  warn  us  in 
time.  I  take  it  we'll  pass  between  them  and  weU 
north  of  Ascension."  So  he  checked  in  the  yards  a 
little  and  brought  the  wind  more  abeam. 

One  day  Yank  Tate  appeared  at  the  captain's  el- 


THE  TRADE-WIND  101 

bow,  and  suggested,  in  a  low  voice,  that  he  examine 
the  treasure-chests  in  the  'tween-deck.  "  I  was  down 
stowing  away  some  oakum,"  he  said,  "  an'  I  was  sure 
I  heard  the  lid  close;  but  nobody  answered  me,  an' 
I  couldn't  feel  anybody."  :  \  •  v 

Captain  Swarth  descended  to  his  cabin  and. found 
his  keys  missing;  then  he  and  the  ear-penter' Visited 
the  chests.  They  were  locked  tight,  and  as  heavy 
as  ever. 

"  Some  one  has  the  keys,  Yank,  and  has  very  likely 
raided  the  diamonds.  We  can't  do  anything  but 
wait.  He  can't  get  away.  Keep  still  about  it." 

The  air  became  cooler  as  they  sailed  on;  and  judg- 
ing that  the  trade-wind  was  blowing  more  from  the 
south  than  he  had  allowed  for,  the  captain  brought 
the  wind  squarely  abeam,  and  the  brig  sailed  faster. 
Still,  it  was  too  cool  for  the  latitude,  and  it  puzzled 
him,  until  a  man  came  aft  and  groaned  that  he  had 
lifted  his  bandage  to  bathe  his  eyes,  and  had  unmis- 
takably seen  the  sun  four  points  off  the  port  quarter ; 
but  his  eyes  were  worse  now,  and  he  could  not  do  it 
again. 

"Four  points  off!"  exclaimed  Swarth.  "Four 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  That's  just  about  where 
the  sun  ought  to  be  heading  due  east,  and  far  enough 
south  o'  the  line  to  bring  this  cool  weather.  We're 
not  far  from  Ascension.  Never  knew  the  sou'east 
trade  to  act  like  this  before.  Must  ha'  been  blowing 
out  o'  the  sou'west  half  the  time." 

A  week  later  they  were  hove  to  on  the  port  tack 
under  double-reefed  topsails,  with  a  cold  gale  of  wind 
screaming  through  the  rigging  and  cold  green  seas 
boarding  their  weather  bow.  It  was  the  first  break  in 
the  friendly  trade-wind,  and  Swarth  confessed  to 


102  THE  TRADE-WIND 

himself — though  not  to  his  men — that  he  was  out  of 
his  reckoning;  but  one  thing  he  was  sure  of — that 
this  was  a  cyclone  with  a  dangerous  center. 

The  brig  labored  heavily  during  the  lulls  as  the 
seas  ro$ e,  nnd1  when  the  squalls  came,  flattening  them 
to  a  level,  she  would  lie  down  like  a  tired  animal, 
yhile'  the  -aeciian  song  aloft  prevented  orders  being 
heard  unless  shouted  near  by.  Captain  Swarth  went 
below  and  smashed  the  glass  of  an  aneroid  barome- 
ter (newly  invented  and  lately  acquired  from  an  out- 
ward-bound Englishman),  in  which  he  had  not  much 
confidence,  but  which  might  tell  him  roughly  of  the 
air-density.  Feeling  of  the  indicator,  and  judging 
by  the  angle  it  made  with  the  center, — marked  by  a 
ring  at  the  top, — he  found  a  measurement  whieh 
startled  him.  Setting  the  adjustable  hand  over  the 
indicator  for  future  reference,  he  returned  to  the 
deck,  ill  at  ease,  and  ordered  the  topsails  goose- 
winged.  By  the  time  the  drenched  and  despairing 
blind  men  had  accomplished  this,  a  further  lowering 
of  the  barometer  induced  him  to  furl  topsails  and 
foretopmast-staysail,  and  allow  the  brig  to  ride  under 
a  storm-spanker.  Then  the  increasing  wind  required 
that  this  also  should  be  taken  in,  and  its  place  filled 
by  a  tarpaulin  lashed  to  the  weather  main-rigging. 

"  Angel,"  said  the  captain,  shouting  into  the  mate's 
ear,  "there's  only  one  thing  to  account  for  this. 
We're  on  the  right  tack  for  the  Southern  Ocean ;  but 
the  storm-center  is  overtaking  us  faster  than  we  can 
drift  away  from  it.  We  must  scud  out  of  its  way." 

So  they  took  in  the  tarpaulin  and  set  the  foretop- 
mast-staysail again,  and,  with  the  best  two  helmsmen 
at  the  wheel,  they  sped  before  the  tempest  for  four 
hours,  during  which  there  was  no  increase  of  the 


THE  TRADE-WIND  108 

wind  and  no  change  in  the  barometer;  it  still  re- 
mained at  its  lowest  reading. 

"  Keep  the  wind  as  much  on  the  port  quarter  as 
you  dare,"  ordered  Swarth.  "We're  simply  sailing 
around  the  center,  and  perhaps  in  with  the  vortex." 

They  obeyed  him  as  they  could,  and  in  a  few  hours 
more  there  was  less  fury  in  the  blast  and  a  slight  rise 
in  the  barometer. 

"I  was  right,"  said  the  captain.  "The  center 
will  pass  us  now.  We're  out  of  its  way." 

They  brought  the  brig  around  amid  a  crashing  of 
seas  over  the  port  rail,  and  stowing  the  staysail, 
pinned  her  again  on  the  port  tack  with  the  tarpaulin. 
But  a  few  hours  of  it  brought  an  increase  of  wind 
and  a  fall  of  the  barometer. 

"  What  in  d — nation  does  it  mean,  Angel  ?  "  cried 
the  captain,  desperately.  "  By  all  laws  of  storms 
we  ought  to  drift  away  from  the  center." 

The  mate  could  not  tell;  but  a  voice  out  of  the 
night,  barely  distinguishable  above  the  shrieking 
wind,  answered  him. 

"  You  —  all-fired  —  fool  —  don't  —  you  —  know 
—  any  —  more  —  than  —  to  —  heave  —  to  —  in  — 
the  —  Gulf  —  Stream?  " 

Then  there  was  the  faintest  disturbance  in  the 
sounds  of  the  sea,  indicating  the  rushing  by  of  a 
large  craft. 

"What!"  roared  Swarth.  "The  Gulf  Stream? 
I've  lost  my  reckoning.  Where  am  I?  Ship  ahoy! 
Where  am  I?" 

There  was  no  answer,  and  he  stumbled  down  to  the 
main-deck  among  his  men,  followed  by  the  mate. 

"  Draw  a  bucket  of  water,  one  of  you,"  he 
ordered. 


104>  THE  TRADE-WIND 

This  was  done,  and  he  immersed  his  hand.  The 
water  was  warm. 

"Gulf  Stream,"  he  yelled  frantically,  "Gulf 
Stream — how  in  h — 1  did  we  get  up  here?  We  ought 
to  be  down  near  St.  Helena.  Angel,  come  here.  Let's 
think.  We  sailed  by  the  wind  on  the  southeast  trade 
for — no,  we  didn't.  It  was  the  northeast  trade.  We 
caught  the  northeast  trade,  and  we've  circled  all  over 
the  Western  Ocean." 

"You're  a  bully  full-rigged  navigator,  you  are," 
came  the  sneering,  rasping  voice  of  Tom  Plate 
from  the  crowd.  "  Why  didn't  you  drop  your 
hook  at  Barbados,  and  give  us  a  chance  for  our 
eyes?" 

The  captain  lunged  toward  him  on  the  reeling 
deck ;  but  Tom  moved  on. 

"  Your  time  is  coming,  Tom  Plate,"  he  shouted, 
insanely ;  then  he  climbed  to  the  poop,  and  when  he 
had  studied  the  situation  awhile,  called  his  bewildered 
mate  up  to  him. 

"  We  were  blown  out  of  the  north  entrance  o'  the 
bay,  Angel,  instead  of  the  south,  as  we  thought.  I 
was  fooled  by  the  soundings.  At  this  time  o'  the 
year  Barbados  is  about  on  the  thermal  equator — 
half-way  between  the  trades.  This  is  a  West  India 
cyclone,  and  we're  somewhere  around  Hatteras.  No 
wonder  the  port  tack  drifted  us  into  the  center. 
Storms  revolve  against  the  sun  north  o'  the  line,  and 
with  the  sun  south  of  it.  Oh,  I'm  the  two  ends  and 
the  bight  of  a  d— d  fool!  Wear  ship !  "  he  added  in 
a  thundering  roar. 

They  put  the  brig  on  the  starboard  tack,  and  took 
hourly  soundings  with  the  deep-sea  lead.  As  they 
hauled  it  in  for  the  fourth  time,  the  men  called  that 


THE  TRADE-WIND  105 

the  water  was  cold;  and  on  the  next  sounding  the 
lead  reached  bottom  at  ninety  fathoms. 

"  We're  inside  the  Stream  and  the  hundred-fathom 
curve,  Angel.  The  barometer's  rising  now.  The 
storm-center's  leaving  us,  and  we're  drifting  ashore," 
said  the  captain.  "  I  know  pretty  well  where  I  am. 
These  storms  follow  an  invariable  track,  and  I  judge 
the  center  is  to  the  east  of  us,  moving  north.  That's 
why  we  didn't  run  into  it  when  we  thought  we  were 
dodging  it.  We'll  square  away  with  the  wind  on  the 
starboard  quarter  now,  and  if  we  pick  up  the  Stream 
and  the  glass  don't  rise,  I'll  be  satisfied  to  turn  in. 
I'm  about  fagged  out." 

"  It's  too  much  for  me,  Bill,"  answered  Mr.  Todd, 
wearily.  "  I  can  navigate ;  but  this  ain't  navigation. 
This  is  blindman's-buff." 

But  he  set  the  head-sail  for  his  captain,  and  again 
the  brig  fled  before  the  wind.  Only  once  did  they 
round  to  for  soundings,  and  this  time  found  no  bot- 
tom ;  so  they  squared  away,  and  when,  a  few  hours 
later,  the  seas  came  aboard  warm,  Swarth  was  con- 
fident enough  of  his  position  to  allow  his  mind  to 
dwell  on  pettier  details  of  his  business. 

It  was  nearly  breakfast-time  now,  and  the  men 
would  soon  be  eating.  With  his  pistols  in  his  coat 
pockets  he  stationed  himself  beside  the  scuttle  of  the 
fore-hatch, — the  entrance  to  the  forecastle, — and 
waited  long  and  patiently,  listening  to  occasional 
comments  on  his  folly  and  bad  seamanship  which 
ascended  from  below,  until  the  harsh  voice  of  Tom 
Plate  on  the  stairs  indicated  his  coming  up.  He 
reached  toward  Tom  with  one  hand,  holding  a  cocked 
pistol  with  the  other;  but  Tom  slid  easily  out  of  his 
wavering  grasp  and  fled  along  the  deck.  He  followed 


106  THE  TRADE-WIND 

his  footsteps  until  he  lost  them,  and  picked  up  instead 
the  angry  plaint  of  the  negro  cook  in  the  galley 
amidships. 

"  I  do'  know  who  you  are,  but  you  want  to  git 
right  out  o'  my  galley,  now.  You  heah  me?  I'se 
had  enough  o'  dis  comin'  inter  my  galley.  Gwan, 
now !  Is  you  de  man  dat's  all  time  stealin'  my  coffee  ? 
I'll  gib  you  coffee,  you  trash !  Take  dat !  " 

Captain  Swarth  reached  the  galley  door  in  time 
to  receive  on  the  left  side  of  his  face  a  generous 
share  of  a  pot  of  scalding  coffee.  It  brought  an  in- 
voluntary shriek  of  agony  from  him ;  then  he  clung 
to  the  galley-lashings  and  spoke  his  mind.  Still  in 
torment,  he  felt  his  way  through  the  galley ;  but  the 
cook  and  the  intruder  had  escaped  by  the  other  door 
and  made  no  sound. 

All  that  day  and  the  night  following  he  chose  to 
lie  in  his  darkened  state-room,  with  his  face  bandaged 
in  oily  cloths,  while  Yank  Tate  stood  his  watch.  In 
the  morning  he  removed  the  bandages  and  took  in 
the  sight  of  his  state-room  fittings :  the  bulkhead,  his 
desk,  chronometer,  cutlass,  and  clothing  hanging  on 
the  hooks.  It  was  a  joyous  sight,  and  he  shouted 
in  gladness.  He  could  not  see  with  his  right  eye  and 
but  dimly  with  his  left,  but  a  scrutiny  of  his  face 
in  a  mirror  disclosed  deep  lines  that  had  not  been 
there,  distorted  eyelids,  and  the  left  side  where  the 
coffee  had  scalded  puffed  to  a  large,  angry  blister. 
He  tied  up  his  face,  leaving  his  left  eye  free,  and 
went  on  deck. 

The  wind  had  moderated,  but  on  all  sides  was  a 
wild  gray  waste  of  heaving,  white-crested  combers, 
before  which  the  brig  was  still  scudding  under  the 
staysail  Three  miles  off  on  the  port  bow  was  a 


THE  TRADE-WIND  107 

large,  square-bowed,  square-yarded  ship,  hove  to  and 
heading  away  from  them,  which  might  be  a  frigate 
or  a  subsidized  Englishman  with  painted  ports;  but 
in  either  case  she  could  not  be  investigated  now.  He 
looked  at  the  compass.  The  brig  was  heading  about 
southeast,  and  his  judgment  was  confirmed.  Two 
haggard-faced  men  with  bandaged  eyes  were  grind- 
ing the  wheel  to  starboard  and  port,  and  keeping  the 
brig's  yaws  within  two  points  each  way — good  work 
for  blind  men.  Angel  Todd  stood  near,  his  chin 
resting  in  his  hand  and  his  elbow  on  the  companion- 
way.  Forward  the  watch  sat  about  in  coils  of  rope 
and  sheltered  nooks  or  walked  the  deck  unsteadily, 
and  a  glance  aloft  showed  the  captain  his  rigging 
hanging  in  bights  and  yards  pointed  every  way.  She 
•was  unkempt  as  a  wreck.  The  same  glance  apprised 
him  of  an  English  ensign,  union  down,  tattered  and 
frayed  to  half  its  size,  at  the  end  of  the  standing 
spanker-gaff,  with  the  halyards  made  fast  high  on 
the  royal-backstay,  above  the  reach  of  bungling 
blind  fingers.  Tom  Plate  was  coming  aft  with 
none  of  the  hesitancy  of  the  blind,  and  squinting 
aloft  at  the  damaged  distress-signal.  He  secured 
another  ensign — American — from  the  flag-locker  in 
the  booby-hatch,  mounted  the  rail,  and  hoisted  it, 
union  down,  in  place  of  the  other.  Then  he  dropped 
to  the  deck  and  looked  into  the  glaring  left  eye  and 
pepper-box  pistol  of  Captain  Swarth,  who  had  de- 
scended on  him. 

"  Hands  up,  Tom  Plate,  over  your  head — quick, 
or  I'll  blow  your  brains  out !  " 

White  in  the  face  and  open-mouthed,  Tom  obeyed. 

"Mr.  Todd,"  called  the  captain,  "come  down 
here— port  main-rigging." 


108  THE  TRADE-WIND 

The  mate  came  quickly,  as  he  always  did  when  he 
heard  the  prefix  to  his  name.  It  was  used  only  in 
emergencies. 

"  What  soundings  did  you  get  at  the  lead  when 
we  were  blowing  out?  "  asked  the  captain.  "  What 
water  did  you  have  when  you  sang  out  *  a  quarter 
six  '  and  '  a  quarter  less  six  '?  " 

"  N-n-one,  capt'n.  There  warn't  any  bottom.  I 
jess  wanted  to  get  you  to  drop  the  other  anchor  and 
hold  her  off  the  reef." 

"Got  him  tight,  cappen? "  asked  the  mate. 
"  Shall  I  help  you  hold  'im?  " 

"I've  got  my  sight  back.  I've  got  Tom  Plate 
under  my  gun.  How  long  have  you  been  flying 
signals  of  distress,  Tom  Plate?" 

"  Ever  since  I  could  see,  capt'n,"  answered  the 
trembling  sailor. 

"How  long  is  that?" 

"  Second  day  out,  sir." 

"  What's  your  idea  in  keeping  still  about  it  ? 
What  could  you  gain  by  being  taken  aboard  a  man- 
of-war?  " 

"  I  didn't  want  to  have  all  the  work  piled  on  me 
jess  'cause  I  could  see,  capt'n.  I  never  thought 
anybody  could  ever  see  again.  I  slept  partly 
under  No.  2  gun  that  night,  and  didn't  get  it  so 
bad." 

"  You  sneaked  into  my  room,  got  my  keys,  and 
raided  the  treasure-chests.  You  know  what  the  rules 
say  about  that?  Death  without  trial." 

"  No,  I  didn't,  capt'n :  I  didn't." 

"  Search  him,  Mr.  Todd." 

The  search  brought  to  light  a  tobacco-pouch  in 
which  were  about  fifty  unset  diamonds  and  a  few 


THE  TRADE-WIND  109 

well- jeweled  solid-gold  ornaments,  which  the  captain 
pocketed. 

"  Not  much  of  a  haul,  considering  what  you  left 
behind,"  he  said,  calmly.  "  I  suppose  you  only  took 
what  you  could  safely  hide  and  swim  with." 

"  I  only  took  my  share,  sir ;  I  did  no  harm ;  I 
didn't  want  to  be  driftin'  round  wi'  blind  men.  How'd 
I  know  anybody  could  ever  see  any  more?  " 

"  Sad  mistake,  Tom.  All  we  wanted,  it  seems, 
was  a  good  scalding  with  hot  coffee."  He  mused  a 
few  moments,  then  continued :  "  There  must  be  some 
medical  virtue  in  hot  coffee  which  the  doctors  haven't 
learned,  and — well — Tom,  you've  earned  your 
finish." 

"  You  won't  do  it,  capt'n ;  you  can't  do  it.  The  men 
won't  have  it;  they're  with  me,"  stuttered  the  man. 

"  Possibly  they  are.  I  heard  you  all  growling  down 
the  hatch  yesterday  morning.  You're  a  pack  of 
small-minded  curs.  I'll  get  another  crew.  Mr. 
Todd,"  he  said  to  the  listening  mate,  "  steward  told 
me  he  was  out  of  coffee,  so  we'll  break  a  bag  out  o' 
the  lazarette.  It's  a  heavy  lift — two  hundred  pounds 
and  over — 'bout  the  weight  of  a  man ;  so  we'll  hoist 
it  up.  Let  Tom,  here,  rig  a  whip  to  the  spanker- 
gaff.  He  can  see." 

"  Aye,  aye,  sir,"  answered  the  mate.  "  Get  a 
single  block  and  a  strap  and  a  gant-line  out  os  the 
bo's'n's  locker,  Tom." 

"  Is  it  all  right,  capt'n  ?  "  asked  Tom,  lowering 
his  hands  with  a  deep  sigh  of  relief.  "  I  did  what 
seemed  right,  you  know." 

"  Rig  that  whip,"  said  Swarth,  turning  his  back 
and  ascending  the  poop. 

Tom  secured  the  gear,  and  climbing  aloft  and  out 


110  THE  TRADE-WIND 

the  gaff,  fastened  the  block  directly  over  the  laza- 
rette-hatch,  just  forward  of  the  binnacle.  Then  he 
overhauled  the  rope  until  it  reached  the  deck,  and 
descended. 

"  Come  up  here  on  the  poop,"  called  the  captain ; 
and  he  came. 

"  Shall  I  go  down  and  hook  on,  sir?  "  he  asked 
zealously. 

"  Make  a  hangman's  noose  in  the  end  of  the  rope," 
said  Swarth. 

"  Eh — what — a  runnin'  bowline — a  timber-hitch? 
No,  no,"  he  yelled,  as  he  read  the  captain's  face. 
"  You  can't  do  it.  The  men—" 

"  Make  a  hangman's  knot  in  the  end  of  the  rope," 
thundered  the  captain,  his  pistol  at  Tom's  ear. 

With  a  face  like  that  of  a  death's-head  he  tied 
the  knot. 

"  Pass  it  round  your  neck  and  draw  it  tight." 

Hoarse,  inarticulate  screams  burst  from  the  throat 
of  the  man,  ended  by  a  blow  on  the  side  of  his  face 
by  the  captain's  iron-hard  fist.  He  fell,  and  lay 
quiet,  while  Swarth  himself  adjusted  the  noose  and 
bound  the  hands  with  his  own  handkerchief.  The 
men  at  the  wheel  strained  their  necks  this  way  and 
that,  with  tense  waves  of  conflicting  expressions  flit- 
ting across  their  weary  faces,  and  the  men  forward, 
aroused  by  the  screams,  stood  about  in  anxious  ex- 
pectancy until  they  heard  Swarth's  roar :  "  Lay  aft 
here,  the  watch !  " 

They  came,  feeling  their  way  along  by  rail  and 
hatch. 

"  Clap  on  to  that  gant-line  at  the  main  fife-rail, 
and  lift  this  bag  of  coffee  out  o'  the  lazarette,"  sang 
out  the  captain. 


THE  TRADE-WIND  111 

They  found  the  loose  rope,  tautened  it,  hooked  the 
bight  into  an  open  sheave  in  the  stanchion,  and  list- 
lessly walked  forward  with  it.  When  they  had  hoisted 
the  unconscious  Tom  to  the  gaff,  Swarth  ordered: 
"  Belay,  coil  up  the  fall,  and  go  forrard." 

They  obeyed,  listlessly  as  ever,  with  no  wondering 
voice  raised  to  inquire  why  they  had  not  lowered 
the  coffee  they  had  hoisted. 

Captain  Swarth  looked  at  the  square-rigged  ship, 
now  on  the  port  quarter — an  ill-defined  blur  to  his 
imperfect  vision.  "  Fine  chance  we'd  have  had,"  he 
muttered,  "  if  that  happened  to  be  a  bulldog. 
Angel,"  he  said,  as  the  mate  drew  near.  "  Hot  cof- 
fee is  good  for  moon-blindness,  taken  externally,  as 
a  blistering  agent — a  counter-irritant.  We  have  no 
fly-blisters  in  the  medicine  chest,  but  smoking  hot 
grease  must  be  just  as  good,  if  not  better  than  either. 
Have  the  cook  heat  up  a  potful,  and  you  get  me  out 
a  nice  small  paint-brush." 

Forty-eight  hours  later,  when  the  last  wakening 
vision  among  the  twenty  men  had  taken  cognizance 
of  the  grisly  object  aloft,  the  gaff  was  guyed  out- 
board, the  rope  cut  at  the  fife-rail,  and  the  body  of 
Tom  Plate  dropped,  feet  first,  to  the  sea. 

Then  when  Captain  Swarth's  eyes  permitted  he 
took  an  observation  or  two,  and,  after  a  short  lecture 
to  his  crew  on  the  danger  of  sleeping  in  tropic  moon- 
light, shaped  his  course  for  Barbados  Island,  to  take 
up  the  burden  of  his  battle  with  fate  where  the  blind- 
ness had  forced  him  to  lay  it  down ;  to  scheme  and  to 
plan,  to  dare  and  to  do,  to  war  and  to  destroy, 
against  the  inevitable  coming  of  the  time  when  fate 
should  prove  the  stronger — when  he  would  lose  in  a 
game  where  one  must  always  win  or  die. 


SALVAGE 

SHE  had  a  large  crew,  abnormally  large  hawse- 
pipes,  and  a  bad  reputation — the  last  attribute 
born  of  the  first.  Registered  as  the  Rosebud,  this 
innocent  name  was  painted  on  her  stern  and  on  her 
sixteen  dories ;  but  she  was  known  among  the  fishing- 
fleet  as  the  Ishmaelite,  and  the  name  fitted  her.  Se- 
cretive and  unfriendly,  she  fished  alone,  avoided  com- 
pany, answered  few  hails,  and,  seldom  filling  her  hold, 
disposed  of  her  catch  as  her  needs  required,  in  out- 
of-the-way  ports,  often  as  far  south  as  Charleston. 
And  she  usually  left  behind  her  such  bitter  memories 
of  her  visit  as  placed  the  last  port  at  the  bottom  of 
her  list  of  markets. 

No  ship-chandler  or  provision-dealer  ever  showed 
her  receipted  bills,  and  not  a  few  of  them  openly 
averred  that  certain  burglaries  of  their  goods  had 
plausible  connection  with  her  presence  in  port.  Be 
this  as  it  may,  the  fact  stood  that  farmers  on  the 
coast  who  saw  her  high  bow  and  unmistakable  hawse- 
pipes  when  she  ran  in  for  bait  invariably  double- 
locked  their  barns  and  chicken-coops,  and  turned 
loose  all  tied  dogs  when  night  descended,  often  to  find 
both  dogs  and  chickens  gone  in  the  morning. 

Once,  too,  three  small  schooners  had  come  home 
with  empty  holds,  and  complained  of  the  appearance, 
while  anchored  in  the  fog,  of  a  flotilla  of  dories 
manned  by  masked  men,  who  overpowered  and  locked 
all  hands  in  cabin  or  forecastle,  and  then  removed 
the  cargoes  of  fish  to  their  own  craft,  hidden  in  the 
112 


SALVAGE  118 

fog.  Shortly  after  this,  the  Ishmaelite  disposed  of 
a  large  catch  in  Baltimore,  and  the  piracy  was  be- 
lieved of  her,  but  never  proved. 

Her  luck  at  finding  things  was  remarkable.  Drift- 
ing dories,  spars,  oars,  and  trawl-tubs  sought  her  un- 
savory company,  as  though  impelled  by  the  inanimate 
perversity  which  had  sent  them  drifting.  They  were 
sold  in  port,  or  returned  to  their  owners,  when  paid 
for.  In  the  early  part  of  her  career  she  had  towed 
a  whistling  buoy  into  Boston  and  claimed  salvage 
of  the  government,  showing  her  log-book  to  prove 
that  she  had  picked  it  up  far  at  sea.  The  salvage 
was  paid;  but,  as  her  reputation  spread,  there  were 
those  who  declared  that  she  herself  had  sent  the 
buoy  adrift. 

As  poets  and  sailors  believe  that  ships  have  souls, 
it  may  be  that  she  gloried  in  her  shame,  like  other 
fallen  creatures;  for  her  large,  slanting  oval  hawse- 
pipes  and  boot-top  stripe  gave  a  fine,  Oriental  sneer 
to  her  face-like  bow,  and  there  was  slur  and  insult  to 
respectable  craft  in  the  lazy  dignity  with  which  she 
would  swash  through  the  fleet  on  the  port  tack,  com- 
pelling vessels  on  the  starboard  tack  to  give  up  their 
right  of  way  or  be  rammed ;  for  she  was  a  large  craft, 
and  there  was  menace  in  her  solid,  one-piece  jib- 
boom,  thick  as  an  ordinary  mainmast.  An  outward- 
bound  coasting-schooner,  resenting  this  lawlessness 
on  one  occasion,  attempted  to  assert  her  rights,  and 
being  on  the  lawful  starboard  tack,  bore  steadily 
down  on  the  Ishmaelite, — who  budged  not  a  quarter- 
point, — and,  losing  heart  at  the  last  moment,  luffed 
up,  all  shaking,  in  just  the  position  to  allow  the  ring 
of  her  port  anchor  to  catch  on  the  bill  of  the  Ishmael- 
ite's  starboard  anchor.  As  her  own  ring-stopper 


114  SALVAGE 

and  shank-painter  were  weak,  the  patent  windlass 
unlocked,  and  the  end  of  the  cable  not  secured  in 
the  chain-locker,  the  Ishmaelite  walked  calmly  away 
with  the  anchor  and  a  hundred  fathoms  of  chain, 
which,  at  the  next  port,  she  sold  as  legitimate  spoil 
of  the  sea. 

As  her  reputation  increased,  so  did  the  hatred 
of  men,  while  the  number  of  ports  on  the  coast 
which  she  could  safely  enter  became  painfully  small. 
To  avoid  conflict  with  local  authority,  she  had  hur- 
ried to  sea  without  clearing  at  the  custom-house 
from  Boston,  Bangor,  Portland,  and  Gloucester.  She 
had  carried  local  authority  in  the  persons  of  dis- 
tressed United  States  marshals  to  sea  with  her  from 
three  other  ports,  and  landed  it  on  some  outlying 
point  before  the  next  meal-hour.  With  her  blunt 
jib-boom  she  had  prodded  a  hole  in  the  side  of  a 
lighthouse  supply-boat,  and  sailed  away  without 
answering  questions.  The  government  was  taking 
cognizance,  and  her  description  was  written  on  the 
fly-leaves  of  several  revenue  cutters'  log-books,  while 
Sunday  newspapers  in  the  large  cities  began  a  series 
of  special  articles  about  the  mysterious  schooner- 
rigged  pirate  of  the  fishing-fleet. 

The  future  looked  dark  for  her,  and  when  the 
time  came  that  she  was  chased  away  from  Plymouth 
harbor — which  she  had  entered  for  provisions — by  a 
police  launch,  it  seemed  that  the  end  was  at  hand; 
for  she  had  done  no  wrong  in  Plymouth,  and  the 
police  boat  was  evidently  acting  on  general  principles 
and  instructions,  which  were  vital  enough  to  extend 
the  pursuit  to  the  three-mile  limit.  Her  trips  had 
become  necessarily  longer,  and  there  was  but  two 
weeks'  supply  of  food  in  the  lazarette.  The  New 


SALVAGE  115 

England  coast  was  an  enemy's  country,  but  in  the 
crowded  harbor  of  New  York  was  a  chance  to  lie  un- 
observed at  anchor  long  enough  to  secure  the 
stores  she  needed,  which  only  a  large  city  can 
supply.  So  Cape  Cod  was  doubled  on  the  way  to 
New  York;  but  the  brisk  offshore  wind,  which  had 
helped  her  in  escaping  the  police  boat,  developed  to 
a  gale  that  blew  her  to  sea,  and  increased  in  force 
as  the  hours  passed  by. 

Hard-headed,  reckless  fellows  were  these  men  who 
owned  the  Rosebud  and  ran  her  on  shares  and  under 
laws  of  their  own  making.  Had  they  been  of  larger, 
broader  minds,  with  no  change  of  ethics  they  would 
have  acquired  a  larger,  faster  craft  with  guns, 
hoisted  the  black  flag,  and  sailed  southward  to  more 
fruitful  fields.  Being  what  they  were, — fishermen 
gone  wrong, — they  labored  within  their  limitations 
and  gleaned  upon  known  ground. 

They  were  eighteen  in  number,  and  they  typified 
the  maritime  nations  of  the  world.  Americans  pre- 
dominated, of  course,  but  English,  French,  German, 
Portuguese,  Scandinavian,  and  Russian  were  among 
them.  The  cook  was  a  West  India  negro,  and  the 
captain — or  their  nearest  approach  to  a  captain — 
a  Portland  Yankee.  Both  were  large  men,  and  held 
their  positions  by  reason  of  special  knowledge  and 
a  certain  magnetic  mastery  of  soul  which  dominated 
the  others  against  their  rules;  for  in  this  social 
democracy  captains  and  bosses  were  forbidden.  The 
cook  was  an  expert  in  the  galley  and  a  thorough 
seaman ;  the  other  as  able  a  seaman,  and  a  navigator 
past  the  criticism  of  the  rest. 

His  navigation  had  its  limits,  however,  and  this 
gale  defined  them.  He  could  find  his  latitude  by 


116  SALVAGE 

meridian  observation,  and  his  longitude  by  morning 
sights  and  chronometer  time ;  his  dead-reckoning  was 
trustworthy,  and  he  possessed  a  fair  working  con- 
ception of  the  set  and  force  of  the  Atlantic  cur- 
rents and  the  heave  of  the  sea  in  a  blow.  But  his 
studies  had  not  given  him  more  than  a  rudimentary 
knowledge  of  meteorology  and  the  laws  of  storms. 
A  gale  was  a  gale  to  him,  and  he  knew  that  it  would 
usually  change  its  direction  as  a  clock's  hands  will  in 
moving  over  the  dial ;  and  if,  by  chance,  it  should 
back  around  to  its  former  point,  he  prepared  for 
heavier  trouble,  with  no  reference  to  the  fluctuations 
of  the  barometer,  which  instrument  to  him  was 
merely  a  weather-glass — about  as  valuable  as  a  rheu- 
matic big  toe. 

So,  in  the  case  we  are  considering,  not  knowing 
that  he  was  caught  by  the  southern  fringe  of  a  St. 
Lawrence  valley  storm,  with  its  center  of  low 
barometer  to  the  northwest  and  coming  toward  him, 
he  hove  to  on  the  port  tack  to  avoid  Cape  Cod,  and 
drifted  to  sea,  shortening  sail  as  the  wind  increased, 
until,  with  nothing  set  but  a  small  storm-mainsail,  he 
found  himself  in  the  sudden  calm  of  the  storm-center, 
which  had  overtaken  him.  Here,  in  a  tumultuous 
cross-sea,  fifty  miles  off  the  shore,  deceived  by  the 
light,  shifty  airs  and  the  patches  of  blue  sky  show- 
ing between  the  rushing  clouds,  he  made  all  sail  and 
headed  west,  only  to  have  the  masts  whipped  out  as 
the  whistling  fury  of  wind  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  vortex  caught  and  jibed  the  canvas. 

It  was  manifestly  a  judgment  of  a  displeased 
Providence;  and,  glad  that  the  hull  was  still  tight, 
they  cut  away  the  wreck  and  rode  out  the  gale, — 
now  blowing  out  of  the  north, — hanging  to  the 


SALVAGE  117 

tangle  of  spar  and  cordage  which  had  once  been  the 
foremast  and  its  gear.  It  made  a  fairly  good  sea- 
anchor,  with  the  forestay — strong  as  any  chain — for 
a  cable,  and  she  lay  snug  under  the  haphazard  break- 
water and  benefited  by  the  protection,  as  the  seas 
must  first  break  their  heads  over  the  wreckage  be- 
fore reaching  her.  The  mainmast  was  far  away, 
with  all  that  pertained  to  it ;  but  the  solid,  hard-pine 
jib-boom  was  still  intact,  and  not  one  of  the  sixteen 
dories  piled  spoon-fashion  in  the  four  nests  had  been 
injured  when  the  spars  went  by  the  board.  So  they 
were  content  to  smoke,  sleep,  and  kill  time  as  they 
could,  until  the  gale  and  sea  should  moderate,  and 
they  could  rig  a  jury-foremast  of  the  wreck. 

But  before  they  could  begin, — while  there  was  still 
wind  enough  to  curl  t^he  head  of  an  occasional  sea 
into  foam, — a  speck  which  had  been  showing  on  the 
shortened  horizon  to  windward,  when  the  schooner 
lifted  out  of  the  hollows,  took  form  and  identity — 
a  two-masted  steamer,  with  English  colors,  union 
down,  at  the  gaff.  High  out  of  water,  her  broadside 
drift  was  faster  than  that  of  the  dismasted  craft  rid- 
ing to  her  wreckage,  and  in  a  few  hours  she  was 
dangerously  near,  directly  ahead,  rolling  heavily  in 
the  trough  of  the  sea.  They  could  see  shreds  of 
canvas  hanging  from  masts  and  gaffs. 

"  Wunner  what's  wrong  wid  her,"  said  the  cook, 
as  he  relinquished  the  glasses  to  the  next  man. 
"  Amos,"  he  called  to  another,  "  you've  been 
in  the  ingine-room,  you  say.  Is  her  ingine  bus* 
down?" 

"  Dunno,"  answered  Amos.  "  Steam's  all  right ; 
see  the  jet  comin'  out  o'  the  stack?  There!  she's 
turnin'  over — kickin'  ahead.  'Bout  time  if  she  wants 


118  SALVAGE 

to  clear  us.  She's  signalin'.  What's  that  say, 
Elisha?" 

The  ensign  was  fluttering  down,  and  a  string  of 
small  flags  going  aloft  on  the  other  part  of  the  sig- 
nal-halyards, while  the  steamer,  heading  west,  pushed 
ahead  about  a  length  under  the  impulse  of  her  pro- 
peller. Elisha,  the  navigator,  went  below,  and  re- 
turned with  a  couple  of  books,  which  he  consulted. 

"Her  number,"  he  said.  "She's  the  Afghan 
Prince  o'  London."  As  the  schooner  carried  no  sig- 
nal-flags, he  waved  his  sou'wester  in  answer,  and  the 
flags  came  down,  to  be  replaced  by  others. 

"  Rudder  carried  away,"  he  read,  and  then  looked 
with  the  glasses.  "  Rudder  seems  all  right ;  must 
mean  his  steerin'-gear.  Why  don't  they  rig  up 
suthin',  or  a  drag  over  the  stern?  " 

"Don't  know  enough,"  said  an  expatriated  Eng- 
lishman of  the  crew.  "  She's  one  o'  them  bloomin', 
undermanned  tramps,  run  by  apprentices  an'  Thames 
watermen.  They're  drivin'  sailors  an'  sailin'-ships  off 
the  sea,  blarst  'em !  " 

"Martin,"  said  Elisha  to  the  cook,  "what's  the 
matter  with  our  bein'  a  drag  for  her?  " 

"  Dead  easy,  if  we  kin  git  his  line  an'  he  knows 
how  to  rig  a  bridle." 

"  We  can  show  him,  if  it  comes  to  it.  What  ye 
say,  boys?  If  we  steer  her  into  port  we're  entitled 
to  salvage.  She's  helpless ;  we're  not,  for  we've  got  a 
jury-rig  under  the  bows.  Hello !  what's  he  sayin' 
now?  "  Other  flags  had  gone  aloft  on  the  steamer, 
which  asked  for  the  longitude.  Then  followed  others 
which  said  that  the  chronometer  was  broken. 

"Better'n  ever!"  exclaimed  Elisha,  excitedly. 
"Can't  navigate.  Our  chronometer's  all  right;  we 


SALVAGE  119 

never  needed  it,  an'  don't  know,  but  it's  a  big  help  in  a 
salvage  claim.  What  ye  say?  Can't  we  get  our 
hemp  cable  to  him  with  a  dory?  " 

Why  not?  They  were  fishermen,  accustomed  to 
dory  work.  A  short  confab  settled  this  point ;  a  dory 
was  thrown  over,  and  Elisha  and  Amos  pulled  to  the 
steamer,  which  was  now  abreast,  near  enough  for  the 
name  which  Elisha  had  read  to  be  seen  plainly  on  the 
stern,  but  not  near  enough  for  the  men  shouting  from 
her  taffrail  to  make  themselves  heard  on  the  schooner. 
Elisha  and  Amos,  in  the  dory,  conferred  with  these 
men  and  then  returned. 

"Badly  rattled,"  they  reported.  "Tiller-ropes 
parted,  an'  not  a  man  aboard  can  put  a  long  splice 
in  a  wire  rope,  an'  o'  course  we  said  we  couldn't. 
They'll  take  our  line,  an'  we're  to  chalk  up  the  posi- 
tion an'  the  course  to  New  York.  Clear  case  o'  sal- 
vage. We  furnish  everything,  an'  sacrifice  our  jury- 
material  to  aid  'em." 

"  What'll  be  our  chance  in  court,  I'm  thinkin'," 
said  one,  doubtfully.  "  Hadn't  we  better  keep  out 
o'  the  courts?  It's  been  takin'  most  of  our  time 
lately." 

"  What's  the  matter  wi'  ye?  "  yelled  Elisha.  "  We 
owe  a  few  hundreds,  an'  mebbe  a  fine  or  two;  an* 
there's  anywhere  from  one  to  two  hundred  thousand 
— hull  an'  cargo — that  we  save.  We'll  get  no  less 
than  a  third,  mebbe  more.  Go  lay  down,  Bill." 

Bill  subsided.  They  knotted  four  or  five  dory 
rodings  together,  coiled  the  long  length  of  rope  in 
the  dory,  unbent  the  end  of  their  water-laid  cable 
from  the  anchor,  and  waited  until  the  wallowing 
steamer  had  drifted  far  enough  to  leeward  to  come 
within  the  steering-arc  of  a  craft  with  no  canvas; 


120  SALVAGE 

then  they  cut  away  the  wreck,  crowded  forward,  all 
hands  spreading  coats  to  the  breeze,  and  when  the 
schooner  had  paid  off,  steered  her  down  with  the  wind 
on  the  quarter  until  almost  near  enough  to  hail  the 
steamer,  where  they  rounded  to,  safe  in  the  knowl- 
edge that  she  could  not  drift  as  fast  as  the  other. 

Away  went  the  dory,  paying  out  on  the  roding, 
the  end  of  which  was  fastened  to  the  disconnected 
cable,  and  when  it  had  reached  the  steamer,  a  heav- 
ing-line  was  thrown,  by  which  the  roding  was  hauled 
aboard.  Then  the  dory  returned,  while  the  steamer's 
men  hauled  the  cable  to  their  stern.  The  bridle,  two 
heavy  ropes  leading  from  the  after-winch  out  the 
opposite  quarter-chocks  to  the  end  of  the  cable,  was 
quickly  rigged  by  the  steamer's  crew. 

With  a  warning  toot  of  the  whistle,  she  went 
ahead,  and  the  long  tow-line  swept  the  sea-tops, 
tautened,  strained,  and  creaked  on  the  windlass-bitts, 
and  settled  down  to  its  work,  while  the  schooner, 
dropping  into  her  wake,  was  dragged  westward  at  a 
ten-knot  rate. 

"This  is  bully,"  said  Elisha,  gleefully.  "Now 
I'll  chalk  out  the  position  an'  give  her  the  course — 
magnetic,  to  make  sure." 

He  did  so,  and  they  held  up  in  full  view  of  the 
steamer's  bridge  a  large  blackboard  showing  in  six- 
inch  letters  the  formula:  "  Lat.  41-20.  Lon.  69-10. 
Mag.  Co.  W.  half  S." 

A  toot  of  the  whistle  thanked  them,  and  they 
watched  the  steamer,  which  had  been  heading  a  little 
to  the  south  of  this  course,  painfully  swing  her  head 
up  to  it  by  hanging  the  schooner  to  the  starboard 
leg  of  the  bridle;  but  she  did  not  stop  at  west-half- 
south,  and  when  she  pointed  unmistakably  as  high  as 


SALVAGE  m 

northwest,  still  dragging  her  tow  by  the  starboard 
bridle,  a  light  broke  on  them. 

"  She's  goin'  on  her  way  with  us,"  said  Elisha. 
"  No,  no ;  she  can't.  She's  bound  for  London,"  he 
added.  "  Halifax,  mebbe." 

They  waved  their  hats  to  port,  and  shouted  in 
chorus  at  the  steamer.  They  were  answered  by  caps 
flourished  to  starboard  from  the  bridge,  and  out- 
stretched arms  which  pointed  across  the  Atlantic 
Ocean,  while  the  course  changed  slowly  to  north, 
then  faster  as  wind  and  sea  bore  on  the  other  bow, 
until  the  steamer  steadied  and  remained  at  east-by- 
north. 

"  The  rhumb  course  to  the  Channel,"  groaned 
Elisha,  wildly.  "The  nerve  of  it!  An'  I'm  sup- 
posed to  give  the  longitude  every  noon.  Why, 
dammit,  boys,  they'll  claim  they  rescued  us,  an'  like 
as  not  the  English  courts'll  allow  them  salvage  on 
our  little  tub." 

"  Let  go  the  tow-line !  Let  'em  go  to  h— 1 ! "  they 
shouted  angrily,  and  some  started  forward,  but  were 
stopped  by  the  cook.  His  eyes  gleamed  in  his  black 
face,  and  his  voice  was  a  little  higher  pitched  than 
usual;  otherwise  he  was  the  steadiest  man  there. 

"  We'll  hang  right  on  to  our  bran-new  cable, 
men,"  he  said.  "  It's  ours,  not  theirs.  'Course  we 
kin  turn  her  adrif '  ag'in,  an'  be  wuss  off,  too ;  we 
can't  find  de  foremast  now.  But  dat  ain't  de  bes' 
way.  John,"  he  called  to  the  Englishman  of  the 
crew,  "  how  many  men  do  you'  country  tramp 
steamers  carry?  " 

John  computed  mentally,  then  muttered :  "  Two 
mates,  six  ash-cats,1  two  flunkies,  two  quartermasters, 
1  Ash-cats:  engineers  and  firemen. 


122  SALVAGE 

watchman,  deck-hands — oh,  *bout  sixteen  or  seven- 
teen, Martin." 

"  Boys,  le'  's  man  de  win-lass.  We'll  heave  in  on 
our  cable,  an*  if  we  kin  git  close  enough  to  climb 
aboard,  we'll  reason  it  out  wid  dat  English  cappen, 
who  can't  fin'  his  way  roun'  alone  widout  stealin' 
little  fishin '-schooners." 

"Right!"  they  yelled.  "Man  the  windlass. 
We'll  show  the  lime-juice  thief  who's  doin'  this." 

"Amos,"  said  Martin  to  the  ex-engineer,  "you 
try  an'  'member  all  you  forgot  'bout  ingines  in  case 
anything  happens  to  de  crew  o'  dat  steamer;  an', 
Elisha,  you  want  to  keep  good  track  o'  where  we  go, 
so's  you  kin  find  you'  way  back." 

"I'll  get  the  chronometer  on  deck  now.  I  can 
take  sights  alone." 

They  took  the  cable  to  the  windlass-barrel  and 
began  to  heave.  It  was  hard  work, — equal  to  heav- 
ing an  anchor  against  a  strong  head  wind  and  ten- 
knot  tideway, — and  only  half  the  crew  could  find 
room  on  the  windlass-brakes ;  so,  while  the  first  shift 
labored  and  swore  and  encouraged  one  another,  the 
rest  watched  the  approach  of  a  small  tug  towing  a 
couple  of  scows,  which  seemed  to  have  arisen  out  of 
the  sea  ahead  of  them.  When  the  steamer  was  nearly 
upon  her,  she  let  go  her  tow-line  and  ranged  up 
alongside,  while  a  man  leaning  out  of  the  pilot-house 
gesticulated  to  the  steamer's  bridge  and  finally  shook 
his  fist.  Then  the  tug  dropped  back  abreast  of  the 
schooner.  She  was  a  dingy  little  bo^t,  the  biggest 
and  brightest  of  her  fittings  being  the  name-board 
on  her  pilot-house,  which  spelled  in  large  gilt  letters 
the  appellation  J.  C.  Hawks. 

"  Say,"  yelled  her  captain  from  his  door,  "  I'm 


SALVAGE  188 

blown  out  wi'  my  barges,  short  o'  grub  an'  water. 
Can  you  gi'  me  some?  That  lime-juice  sucker  ahead 
won't" 

"Can  you  tow  us  to  New  York?"  asked  Elisha, 
who  had  brought  up  the  chronometer  and  placed  it 
on  the  house,  ready  to  take  morning  sights  for  his 
longitude  if  the  sun  should  appear. 

"  No ;  not  unless  I  sacrifice  the  barges  an'  lose  my 
contract  wi'  the  city.  They're  garbage-scows,  an*  I 
haven't  power  enough  to  hook  on  to  another.  Just 
got  coal  enough  to  get  in." 

"An'  what  do  you  call  this — a  garbage-scow?" 
answered  Elisha,  ill-naturedly.  "  We've  got  no  grub 
or  water  to  spare.  We've  got  troubles  of  our  own." 

"  Dammit,  man,  we're  thirsty  here.  Give  us  a 
breaker  o'  water.  Throw  it  overboard;  I'll  get  it." 

"No;  told  you  we  have  none  to  spare;  an'  we're 
bein'  yanked  out  to  sea." 

"  Well,  gi'  me  a  bottleful ;  that  won't  hurt  you." 

"  No ;  sheer  off.  Git  out  o'  this.  We're  not  in  the 
Samaritan  business." 

A  forceful  malediction  came  from  the  tug  captain, 
and  a  whirling  monkey-wrench  from  the  hand  of  the 
engineer,  who  had  listened  from  the  engine-room 
door.  It  struck  Elisha's  chronometer  and  knocked  it 
off  the  house,  box  and  all,  into  the  sea.  He  answered 
the  profanity  in  kind,  and  sent  an  iron  belaying-pin 
at  the  engineer;  but  it  only  dented  the  tug's  rail, 
and  with  these  compliments  the  two  craft  separated, 
the  tug  steaming  back  to  her  scows. 

"  That  lessens  our  chance  just  so  much,"  growled 
Elisha,  as  he  joined  the  rest.  "  Now  we  can't  do  all 
we  agreed  to." 

"Keep    dead-reckonin',    1,isha,"    said    Martin; 


124  SALVAGE 

"  dat's  good  'nough  for  us ;  an',  say,  can't  you  take 
sights  by  a  watch — jess  for  a  bluff,  to  show  in  de 
log-book?" 

"Might;  'twouldn't  be  reliable.  Good  enough, 
though,  for  log-book  testimony.  That's  what  I'll 
do." 

Inch  by  inch  they  gathered  in  their  cable  and 
coiled  it  down,  unmoved  by  the  protesting  toots  of 
the  steamer's  whistle.  When  half  of  it  lay  on  the 
deck,  the  steamer  slowed  down,  while  her  crew  worked 
at  their  end  of  the  rope;  then  she  went  ahead,  the 
schooner  dropped  back  to  nearly  the  original  dis- 
stance,  and  they  saw  a  long  stretch  of  new  Manila 
hawser  leading  out  from  the  bridle  and  knotted  to 
their  cable.  They  cursed  and  shook  their  fists,  but 
pumped  manfully  on  the  windlass,  and  by  nightfall 
had  brought  the  knot  over  their  bows  by  means  of  a 
"  messenger,"  and  were  heaving  on  the  new  hawser. 

"  Weakens  our  case  just  that  much  more,"  growled 
Elisha.  "  We  were  to  furnish  the  tow-line." 

"  Heave  away,  my  boys !  "  said  Martin.  "  Dey's 
only  so  many  ropes  aboard  her,  an'  when  we  get  'em 
all  we've  got  dat  boat  an'  dem  men." 

So  they  warped  their  craft  across  the  Western 
Ocean.  Knot  after  knot,  hawser  after  hawser,  came 
over  the  bows  and  cumbered  the  deck. 

They  would  have  passed  them  over  the  stern  as  fast 
as  they  came  in,  were  they  not  salvors  with  litigation 
ahead;  for  their  hands  must  be  clean  when  they  en- 
tered their  claim,  and  to  this  end  Elisha  chalked  out 
the  longitude  daily  at  noon  and  showed  it  to  the 
steamer,  always  receiving  a  thankful  acknowledg- 
ment on  the  whistle.  He  secured  the  figures  by  his 
dead-reckoning;  but  the  carefully  kept  log-book  also 


SALVAGE  125 

showed  longitude  by  chronometer  sights,  taken  when 
the  sun  shone,  with  his  old  quadrant  and  older  watch, 
and  corrected  to  bring  a  result  plausibly  near  to  that 
of  the  reckoning  by  log  and  compass.  But  the  log- 
book contained  no  reference  to  the  loss  of  the 
chronometer.  That  was  to  happen  at  the  last. 

On  stormy  days,  when  the  sea  rose,  they  dared 
not  shorten  their  tow-line,  and  the  steamer-folk  made 
sure  that  it  was  long  enough  to  eliminate  the  risk  of 
its  parting.  So  these  days  were  passed  in  idleness 
and  profanity;  and  when  the  sea  went  down  they 
would  go  to  work,  hoping  that  the  last  tow-line  was 
in  their  hands.  But  it  was  not  until  the  steamer 
had  given  them  three  Manila  and  two  steel  hawsers, 
four  weak — too  weak — mooring  chains,  and  a  couple 
of  old  and  frayed  warping-lines,  that  the  coming 
up  to  the  bow  of  an  anchor-chain  of  six-inch 
link  told  them  that  the  end  was  near,  that  the  steamer 
had  exhausted  her  supply  of  tow-lines,  and  that  her 
presumably  sane  skipper  would  not  give  them  his 
last  means  of  anchoring — the  other  chain. 

They  were  right.  Either  for  this  reason  or  be- 
cause of  the  proximity  to  English  bottom,  the  steamer 
ceased  her  coyness,  and  her  crew  watched  from  the 
taffrail,  while  those  implacable,  purposeful  men  be- 
hind crept  up  to  them.  It  was  slow,  laborious  work; 
for  the  small  windlass  would  not  grip  the  heavy  links 
of  the  chain,  and  they  must  needs  climb  out  a  few 
fathoms,  making  fast  messengers  to  heave  on,  while 
the  idle  half  of  them  gathered  in  the  slackened  links 
by  hand. 

On  a  calm,  still  night  they  finally  unshipped  the 
windlass-brakes  and  looked  up  at  the  round,  black 
stern  of  the  steamer  not  fifty  feet  ahead.  They  were 


126  SALVAGE 

surrounded  by  lights  of  outgoing  and  incoming  craft, 
and  they  knew  by  soundings  taken  that  day,  when  the 
steamer  had  slowed  down  for  the  same  purpose,  that 
they  were  within  the  hundred-fathom  curve,  close  to 
the  mouth  of  the  Channel,  but  not  within  the  three- 
mile  limit.  Rejoicing  at  the  latter  fact,  they  armed 
themselves  to  a  man  with  belaying-pins  from  their 
still  intact  pin-rails,  and  climbed  out  on  the  cable, 
the  whole  eighteen  of  them,  man  following  man,  in 
close  climbing  order. 

"  Now,  look  here,"  said  a  portly  man  with  a  gilt- 
bound  cap  to  the  leader  of  the  line,  as  he  threw  a 
leg  over  the  taffrail,  "what's  the  meaning,  may  I 
ask,  of  this  unreasonable  conduct?  " 

"  You  may  ask,  of  course,"  said  the  man, — it  was 
Elisha,— "  but  we'd  like  to  ask  something,  too,"  (he 
was  sparring  for  time  until  more  should  arrive); 
"we'd  like  to  ask  why  you  drag  us  across  the  At- 
lantic Ocean  against  our  will?  " 

Another  man  climbed  aboard,  and  said: 

"Yes;  we  'gree  to  steer  you  into  New  York. 
You's  adrif  in  de  trough  of  de  sea,  an'  you  got  no 
chronometer,  an'  you  can't  navigate,  an'  we  come 
'long — under  command,  mind  you — an'  give  you  our 
tow-line,  an'  tell  you  de  road  to  port.  Wha'  you 
mean  by  dis  ?  " 

"  Tut,  tut,  my  colored  friend !  "  answered  the  man 
of  gilt.  "You  were  dismasted  and  helpless,  and  I 
gave  you  a  tow.  It  was  on  the  high  seas,  and  I  chose 
the  port,  as  I  had  the  right." 

Another  climbed  on  board. 

"  We  were  not  helpless,"  rejoined  Elisha.  "  We 
had  a  good  jury-rig  under  the  bows,  and  we  let  it  go 
to  assist  you.  Are  you  the  skipper  here?  " 


SALVAGE  127 

"  I  am." 

Martin's  big  fist  smote  him  heavily  in  the  face,  and 
the  blow  was  followed  by  the  crash  of  Elisha's  belay- 
ing-pin  on  his  head.  The  captain  fell,  and  for  a 
while  lay  quiet.  There  were  four  big,  strong  men 
over  the  rail  now,  and  others  coming.  Opposing  them 
were  a  second  mate,  an  engineer,  a  fireman,  coal- 
passer,  watchman,  steward,  and  cook — easy  victims 
to  these  big-limbed  fishermen.  The  rest  of  the  crew 
were  on  duty  below  decks  or  at  the  steering-winch. 
It  was  a  short,  sharp  battle;  a  few  pistols  exploded, 
but  no  one  was  hurt,  and  the  firearms  were  captured 
and  their  owners  well  hammered  with  belaying-pins ; 
then,  binding  all  victims  as  they  overcame  them,  the 
whole  party  raided  the  steering-winch  and  engine- 
room,  and  the  piracy  was  complete. 

But  from  their  standpoint  it  was  not  piracy — it 
was  resistance  to  piracy;  and  when  Amos,  the  ex- 
engineer,  had  stopped  the  engines  and  banked  the 
fires,  they  announced  to  the  captives  bound  to  the 
rail  that,  with  all  due  respect  for  the  law,  national 
and  international,  they  would  take  that  distressed 
steamboat  into  New  York  and  deliver  her  to  the 
authorities,  with  a  claim  for  salvage.  The  bargain 
had  been  made  on  the  American  coast,  and  their  log- 
book not  only  attested  this,  but  the  well-doing  of 
their  part  of  the  contract. 

When  the  infuriated  English  captain,  now  recov- 
ered, had  exhausted  his  stock  of  adjectives  and 
epithets,  he  informed  them  (and  he  was  backed  by 
his  steward  and  engineer)  that  there  was  neither  food 
nor  coal  for  the  run  to  New  York ;  to  which  Elisha 
replied  that,  if  so,  the  foolish  and  destructive  waste 
would  be  properly  entered  in  the  log-book,  and  might 


128  SALVAGE 

form  the  basis  of  a  charge  of  barratry  by  the  under- 
writers, if  it  turned  out  that  any  underwriters  had 
taken  a  risk  on  a  craft  with  such  an  "  all-fired  luna- 
tic "  for  a  skipper  as  this.  But  they  would  go  back ; 
they  might  be  forced  to  burn  some  of  the  woodwork 
fittings  (her  decks  were  of  iron)  for  fuel,  and  as  for 
food,  though  their  own  supply  of  groceries  was  about 
exhausted,  there  were  several  cubic  yards  of  salt  cod- 
fish in  the  schooner's  hold,  and  this  they  would  eat: 
they  were  used  to  it  themselves,  and  science  had  de- 
clared that  it  was  good  brain-food — good  for  feeble- 
minded Englishmen  who  couldn't  splice  wire  nor  take 
care  of  a  chronometer. 

Before  starting  back  they  made  some  preliminary 
and  precautionary  preparations.  While  Martin  in- 
ventoried the  stores  and  Amos  the  coal-supply,  the 
others  towed  the  schooner  alongside  and  moored  her. 
Then  they  shackled  the  schooner's  end  of  the  chain 
cable  around  the  inner  barrel  of  the  windlass  and 
riveted  the  key  of  the  shackle.  They  transhipped 
their  clothing  and  what  was  left  of  the  provisions. 
They  also  took  the  log-book  and  charts,  compass, 
empty  outer  chronometer-case, — which  Elisha  han- 
dled tenderly  and  officiously  by  its  strap  in  full  view 
of  the  captives, — windlass-brakes,  tool-chest,  deck- 
tools,  axes,  handspikes,  heavers,  boat-hooks,  belay- 
ing^pins,  and  everything  in  the  shape  of  weapon  or 
missile  by  which  disgruntled  Englishmen  could  do 
harm  to  the  schooner  or  their  rescuers. 

Then  they  passed  the  rescued  ones  down  to  the 
schooner,  and  Martin  told  them  where  they  would 
find  the  iron  kettle  for  boiling  codfish,  with  the  addi- 
tional information  that  with  skill  and  ingenuity  they 
could  make  fish-balls  in  the  same  kettle. 


SALVAGE  129 

Martin  had  reported  a  plenitude  of  provisions,  and 
anathematized  the  lying  captain  and  steward;  and 
Amos  had  declared  his  belief  that  with  careful  econ- 
omy in  the  use  of  coal  they  could  steam  to  the  Amer- 
ican coast  with  the  supply  in  the  bunkers:  so  they 
did  not  take  any  of  the  codfish,  and  the  hawsers, 
valuable  as  fuel  in  case  of  a  shortage,  were  left 
where  they  would  be  more  valuable  as  evidence  against 
the  lawless,  incompetent  Englishmen.  And  they  also 
left  the  dories,  all  but  one,  for  reasons  in  Elisha's 
mind  which  he  did  not  state  at  the  time. 

They  removed  the  bonds  of  one  man — who  could 
release  the  others— ^and  cast  off  the  fastenings ;  then, 
with  Amos  and  a  picked  crew  of  pupils  in  the  boat's 
vitals,  they  went  ahead  and  dropped  the  prison-hulk 
back  to  the  full  length  of  the  chain,  while  the  furious 
curses  of  the  prisoners  troubled  the  air.  They  found 
a  little  difficulty  in  steering  by  the  winch  and  deck- 
compass  (they  would  have  mended  the  tiller-ropes 
with  a  section  of  backstay  had  they  not  bargained 
otherwise),  but  finally  mastered  the  knack,  and 
headed  westerly. 

You  cannot  take  an  Englishman's  ship  from  under 
him — homeward  bound  and  close  to  port — and  drag 
him  to  sea  again  on  a  diet  of  salt  codfish  without 
impinging  on  his  sanity.  When  day  broke  they 
looked  and  saw  the  hawsers  slipping  over  the  schoon- 
er's rail,  and  afterward  a  fountain  of  fish  arising  from 
her  hatches  to  follow  the  hawsers  overboard. 

"What's  de  game,  I  wunner? "  asked  Martin. 
"  Tryin'  to  starve  deyselves?  " 

"  Dunno,"  answered  Elisha,  with  a  serious  expres- 
sion. "They're  not  doin'  it  for  nothin'.  They're 
wavin'  their  hats  at  us.  Somethin'  on  their  minds." 


130  SALVAGE 

"  Well  jes  let  'em  wave.  We'll  go  long  'bout  our 
business." 

So  they  went  at  eight  knots  an  hour;  for,  try  as 
they  might,  Amos  could  get  no  more  out  of  the 
engine.  "  She's  a  divil  to  chew  up  coal,"  he  ex- 
plained ;  "  we  may  have  to  burn  the  boat  yet" 

"  Hope  not,"  said  Elisha.  "  'Tween  you  an'  me, 
Amos,  this  is  a  desperate  bluff  we're  makin*,  an'  if 
we  go  to  destroyin'  property  we  may  get  no  credit 
for  savin'  it.  We'd  have  no  chance  in  the  English 
courts  at  all,  but  it's  likely  an  American  judge  'ud 
recognize  our  original  position — our  bargain  to  steer 
her  in." 

"Too  bad  'bout  that  tarred  cable  of  ours,"  re- 
joined Amos;  "three  days'  good  fuel  in  that,  I 
calculate." 

"  Well,  it's  gone  with  the  codfish,  and  the  fact  is 
properly  entered  in  the  log  as  barratrous  conduct  on 
the  part  of  the  skipper.  Enough  to  prove  him  in- 
sane." 

And  further  to  strengthen  this  possible  aspect  of 
the  case,  Elisha  found  a  blank  space  on  the  leaf  of 
the  log-book  which  recorded  the  first  meeting  and 
bargain  to  tow,  and  filled  it  with  the  potential  sen- 
tence, "  Steamer's  commander  acts  strangely."  For 
a  well-kept  log-book  is  excellent  testimony  in 
court. 

Elisha's  knowledge  of  navigation  did  not  enable 
him  to  project  a  course  on  the  great  circle — the 
shortest  track  between  two  points  on  the  earth's  sur- 
face, and  the  route  taken  by  steamers.  But  he  pos- 
sessed a  fairly  practical  and  ingenious  mind,  and 
with  a  flexible  steel  straight-edge  rule,  and  a  class- 
room globe  in  the  skipper's  room,  laid  out  his  course 


SALVAGE  181 

between  the  lane-routes  of  the  liners, — which  he 
would  need  to  vary  daily, — as  it  was  not  wise  to  court 
investigation.  But  he  signaled  to  two  passing  steam- 
ships for  Greenwich  time,  and  set  his  watch,  obtain- 
ing its  rate  of  correction  by  the  second  favor;  and 
with  this,  and  his  surely  correct  latitude  by  meridian 
observation,  he  hoped  to  make  an  accurate  landfall 
in  home  waters. 

And  so  the  hours  went  by,  with  their  captives 
waving  caps  ceaselessly,  until  the  third  day's  sun 
arose  to  show  them  an  empty  deck  on  the  schooner, 
over  a  dozen  specks  far  astern  and  to  the  southward, 
and  an  east-bound  steamship  on  their  port  bow.  The 
specks  could  be  nothing  but  the  dories,  and  they  were 
evidently  trying  to  intercept  the  steamship.  Elisha 
yelled  in  delight. 

"  They've  abandoned  ship — just  what  I  hoped  for 
— in  the  dories.  They've  no  case  at  all  now." 

"But  what  for,  Elisha?"  asked  Martin.  "  Mus' 
be  hungry,  I  t'ink." 

"  Mebbe,  or  else  they  think  that  liner,  who  can 
stop  only  to  save  life, — carries  the  mails,  you  see, — 
will  turn  round  and  put  'em  in  charge  here.  Why, 
nothin'  but  an  English  man-o'-war  could  do  that 
now." 

They  saw  the  steamship  slow  down,  while  the 
black  specks  flocked  up  to  her,  and  then  go  on  her 
way.  And  they  went  on  theirs ;  but  three  days  later 
they  had  reasoned  out  a  better  explanation  of  the 
Englishmen's  conduct.  Martin  came  on  deck  with  a 
worried  face,  and  announced  that,  running  short  of 
salt  meat  in  the  harness-cask,  he  had  broken  out  the 
barrels  of  beef,  pork,  and  hard  bread  that  he  had 
counted  upon,  and  found  their  contents  absolutely  un- 


132  SALVAGE 

eatable,  far  gone  in  putrescence,  alive  with  crawling 
things. 

"  Must  ha*  thought  he  was  fitting  out  a  Yankee 
hell-ship  when  he  bought  this,"  said  Elisha,  in  dis- 
gust, as  he  looked  into  the  ill-smelling  barrels. 
"  Overboard  with  it,  boys !  " 

Overboard  went  the  provisions,  for  starving  ani- 
mals could  not  eat  of  them,  and  the  odor  permeated 
the  ship.  They  resigned  themselves  to  a  gloomy 
outlook — gloomier  when  Amos  reported  that  the  coal 
in  the  bunkers  would  last  but  two  days  longer.  He 
had  been  mistaken,  he  said ;  he  had  calculated  to  run 
compound  engines  with  Scotch  boilers,  not  a  full- 
powered  blast-furnace  with  six  inches  of  scale  on  the 
crown-sheets. 

"  And  they  knew  this,"  groaned  Elisha.  "  That's 
why  they  chucked  the  stuff  overboard — to  bring  us 
to  terms,  and  never  thinkin'  they'd  starve  first.  They 
were  dead  luny,  but  we're  lunier." 

They  stopped  the  engines  and  visited  the  schooner 
in  the  dory.  Not  a  scrap  of  food  was  there,  and  the 
fish-kettle  was  scraped  bright.  They  returned  and 
went  on.  With  plenty  of  coal  there  was  still  six 
days'  run  ahead  to  New  York.  How  many  with  wood 
fuel,  chopped  on  empty  stomachs  and  burned  in  coal- 
furnaces,  they  could  not  guess.  But  they  went  to 
work.  There  were  three  axes,  two  top-mauls,  and 
several  handspikes  and  pinch-bars  aboard,  and  with 
these  they  attacked  bulkheads  and  spare  woodwork, 
and  fed  the  fires  with  the  fragments ;  for  a  glance 
down  the  hatches  had  shown  them  nothing  more  com- 
bustible and  detachable  in  the  cargo  than  a  few 
layers  of  railroad  iron,  which  covered  and  blocked  the 
openings  to  the  lower  hold. 


SALVAGE  133 

With  the  tools  at  hand  they  could  not  supply  the 
rapacious  fires  fast  enough  to  keep  up  steam,  and  the 
engines  slowed  to  a  five-knot  rate.  As  this  would  not 
maintain  a  sufficient  tension  on  the  dragging  schooner 
to  steer  by,  they  were  forced  to  sacrifice  the  best  item 
in  their  claim  for  salvage :  they  spliced  the  tiller-ropes 
and  steered  from  the  pilot-house.  They  would  have 
sacrificed  the  schooner,  too,  for  Amos  complained 
bitterly  of  the  load  on  the  engines ;  but  Elisha  would 
not  hear  of  it.  She  was  the  last  evidence  in  their 
favor  now,  their  last  connection  with  respecta- 
bility. 

"  She  and  the  pavement  o*  h — 1,"  he  growled 
fiercely,  "  are  all  we've  got  to  back  us  up.  Without 
proof  we're  pirates  under  the  law." 

However,  he  made  no  entry  in  the  log  of  the  splic- 
ing, trusting  that  a  chance  would  come  in  port  to 
remove  the  section  of  wire  rope  with  which  they  had 
joined  the  broken  ends. 

And,  indeed,  it  seemed  that  their  claim  was 
dwindling.  The  chronometer  which  they  were  to  use 
for  the  steamer's  benefit  was  lost ;  the  tow-line  which 
they  were  to  furnish  had  been  given  back  to  them; 
the  course  to  New  York  which  they  chalked  out  had 
not  been  accepted;  the  abandoning  of  their  ship  by 
the  Englishmen  was  clearly  enforced  by  the  pressure 
of  their  own  presence ;  and  now  they  themselves  had 
been  forced  to  cancel  from  the  claim  the  schooner's 
value  as  a  necessary  drag  behind  the  steamer,  by  sub- 
stituting a  three  hours'  splicing- job,  worth  five  dol- 
lars in  a  rigging-loft,  and  possibly  fifty  if  bargained 
for  at  sea.  Nothing  was  left  them  now  but  their 
good  intentions,  duly  entered  in  the  log-book. 

But  fate,  and  the  stupid  understanding  of  some 


134  SALVAGE 

one  or  two  of  them,  decreed  that  their  good  intentions 
also  should  be  taken  from  them.  The  log-book  dis- 
appeared, and  the  strictest  search  failing  to  bring  it 
to  light,  the  conclusion  was  reached  that  it  had  been 
fed  to  the  fires  among  the  wreckage  of  the  skipper's 
room  and  furniture.  They  blasphemed  to  the  extent 
that  the  occasion  required,  and  there  was  civil  war 
for  a  time,  while  the  suspected  ones  were  being  pun- 
ished; then  they  drew  what  remaining  comfort  they 
could  from  burning  the  steamer's  log-book  and  track- 
chart,  which  contained  data  conflicting  with  their 
position  in  the  case,  and  resumed  their  labors. 

Martin  had  raked  and  scraped  together  enough  of 
food  to  give  them  two  scant  meals ;  but  these  eaten, 
starvation  began.  The  details  of  their  suffering  need 
not  be  given.  They  chopped,  hammered,  and  pried 
in  hunger  and  anxiety,  and  with  lessening  strength, 
while  the  days  passed  by — fortunately  spared  the 
torture  of  thirst,  for  there  was  plenty  of  water  in 
the  tanks.  Upheld  by  the  dominating  influence  of 
Elisha,  Martin,  and  Amos,  they  stripped  the  upper 
works  and  fed  to  the  fires  every  door  and  sash,  every 
bulkhead  and  wooden  partition,  all  chairs,  stools,  and 
tables,  cabin  berths  and  forecastle  bunks.  Then  they 
attempted  sending  down  the  topmasts,  but  gave  it  up 
for  lack  of  strength  to  get  mast-ropes  aloft,  and  at- 
tacked instead  the  boats  on  the  chocks,  of  which  there 
were  four. 

It  was  no  part  of  the  plan  to  ask  help  of  passing 
craft  and  have  their  distressed  condition  taken  ad- 
vantage of;  but  when  the  hopelessness  of  the  fight 
at  last  appealed  to  the  master  spirits,  they  consented 
to  the  signaling  of  an  east-bound  steamer,  far  to  the 
northward,  in  the  hope  of  getting  food.  So  the 


SALVAGE  135 

English  ensign,  union  down,  was  again  flown  from 
the  gaff.  It  was  at  a  time  when  Elisha  could  not 
stand  up  at  the  wheel,  when  Amos  at  the  engines 
could  not  have  reversed  them,  when  Martin — man 
of  iron — staggered  weakly  around  among  the  rest 
and  struck  them  with  a  pump-brake,  keeping  them  at 
work.  (They  would  strive  under  the  blows,  and  sit 
down  when  he  had  passed.)  But  the  flag  was  not 
seen ;  a  haze  arose  between  the  two  craft  and  thick- 
ened to  fog. 

By  Elisha's  reckoning  they  were  on  the  Banks 
now,  about  a  hundred  miles  due  south  from  Cape 
Sable,  and  nearer  to  Boston  than  to  Halifax;  other- 
wise he  might  have  made  for  the  latter  port  and  de- 
fied alien  prejudice.  But  the  fog  continued,  and  it 
was  not  port  they  were  looking  for  now ;  it  was  help, 
food:  they  were  working  for  life,  not  salvage;  and, 
wasting  no  steam,  they  listened  for  whistles  or  fog- 
horns, but  heard  none  near  enough  to  be  answered 
by  their  weak  voices. 

And  so  the  boat,  dragging  the  dismal  mockery 
behind  her,  plodded  and  groped  her  way  on  the 
course  which  Elisha  had  shaped  for  Boston,  while 
man  after  man  dropped  in  his  tracks,  refusing  to 
rise;  and  those  that  were  left  nourished  the  fires  as 
they  could,  until  the  afternoon  of  the  third  day  of 
fog,  when  the  thumping,  struggling  engines  halted, 
started,  made  a  half-revolution,  and  came  to  a  dead 
stop.  Amos  crawled  on  deck  and  forward  to  the 
bridge,  where,  with  Elisha's  help,  he  dragged  on  the 
whistle  rope  and  dissipated  the  remaining  steam  in  a 
wheezy,  gasping  howl,  which  lasted  about  a  half- 
minute.  It  was  answered  by  a  furious  siren-blast 
from  directly  astern ;  and  out  of  the  fog,  at  twenty 


136  SALVAGE 

knots  an  hour,  came  a  mammoth  black  steamer. 
Seeming  to  heave  the  small  tramp  out  of  the  way 
with  her  bow  wave,  she  roared  by  at  six  feet  distance, 
and  in  ten  seconds  they  were  looking  at  her  vanishing 
stern.  But  ten  minutes  later  the  stern  appeared  in 
view,  as  the  liner  backed  toward  them.  The  reversed 
English  ensign  still  hung  at  the  gaff ;  and  the  starv- 
ing men,  some  prostrate  on  the  deck,  some  clinging 
to  the  rails,  unable  to  shout,  had  pointed  to  the  flag 
of  distress  and  beckoned  as  the  big  ship  rushed  by. 

"THERE'S  a  chance,"  said  the  captain  of  this  liner 
to  the  pilot,  as  he  rejoined  him  on  the  bridge  an  hour 
later,  "  of  international  complications  over  this  case, 
and  I  may  have  to  lose  a  trip  to  testify.  That's  the 
Afghan  Prince  and  consort  that  I  was  telling  you 
about.  Strange,  isn't  it,  that  I  should  pick  up  these 
fellows  after  picking  up  the  legitimate  crew  going 
east?  I  don't  know  which  crew  was  the  hungriest. 
The  real  crew  charge  this  crowd  with  piracy.  By 
George,  it's  rather  funny !  " 

"And  these  men,"  said  the  pilot,  with  a  laugh, 
"would  have  claimed  salvage?" 

"  Yes,  and  had  a  good  claim,  too,  for  effort  ex- 
pended ;  but  they've  offset  it  by  their  violence.  Their 
chance  was  good  in  the  English  courts,  if  they'd 
only  allowed  the  steamer  to  go  on;  and  then,  too, 
they  abandoned  her  in  a  more  dangerous  position 
than  where  they  found  her.  You  see,  they  met  her 
off  Nantucket  with  sea-room,  and  nothing  wrong 
with  her  but  broken  tiller- ropes ;  and  they  quit  her 
here  close  to  Sandy  Hook,  in  a  fog,  more  than  likely 
to  hit  the  beach  before  morning.  Then,  in  that  case, 
she  belongs  to  the  owners  or  underwriters." 


SALVAGE  137 

"Why  didn't  they  make  Boston?"  asked  the 
pilot. 

"  Tried  to,  but  overran  their  distance.  Chronom- 
eter must  have  been  'way  out.  I  talked  to  the  one 
who  navigated,  and  found  that  he'd  never  thought 
of  allowing  for  local  attraction, — didn't  happen  to 
run  against  the  boat's  deviation  table, — and  so,  with 
all  that  railway  iron  below  hatches,  he  fetched  clear 
o'  Nantucket,  and  'way  in  here." 

"That's  tough.  The  salvage  of  that  steamer 
would  make  them  rich,  wouldn't  it?  And  I  think  they 
might  have  got  it  if  they  could  have  held  out." 

"Yes;  think  they  might.  But  here's  another 
funny  thing  about  it.  They  needn't  have  starved. 
They  needn't  have  chopped  her  to  pieces  for  fuel.  I 
just  remember,  now.  Her  skipper  told  me  there  was 
good  anthracite  coal  in  her  hold,  and  Chicago  canned 
meats,  Minnesota  flour,  beef,  pork,  and  all  sorts  of 
good  grub.  He  carried  some  of  the  rails  in  the 
'tween-deck  for  steadying  ballast,  and  I  suppose  it 
prevented  them  looking  farther.  And  now  they'll 
lose  their  salvage,  and  perhaps  have  to  pay  it  on 
their  own  schooner  if  anything  comes  along  and 
picks  them  up.  That's  the  craft  that'll  get  the 
salvage." 

"Not  likely,"  said  the  pilot;  "not  in  this  fog, 
and  the  wind  and  sea  rising.  I'll  give  'em  six  hours 
to  fetch  up  on  the  Jersey  coast.  A  mail  contract 
with  the  government  is  sometimes  a  nuisance,  isn't  it, 
captain?  How  many  years  would  it  take  you  to 
save  money  to  equal  your  share  of  the  salvage  if  you 
had  yanked  that  tramp  and  the  schooner  into  New 
York?" 

"  It  would  take  more  than  one  lifetime,"  answered 


138  SALVAGE 

the  captain,  a  little  sadly.    "  A  skipper  on  a  mail-boat 
is  the  biggest  fool  that  goes  to  sea." 

The  liner  did  not  reach  quarantine  until  after  sun- 
down, hence  remained  there  through  the  night.  As 
she  was  lifting  her  anchor  in  the  morning,  prepara- 
tory to  steaming  up  to  her  dock,  the  crew  of  the 
Rosebud,  refreshed  by  food  and  sleep,  but  still  weak 
and  nerveless,  came  on  deck  to  witness  a  harrowing 
sight.  The  Afghan  Prince  was  coming  toward  the 
anchorage  before  a  brisk  southeast  wind.  Astern  of 
her,  held  by  the  heavy  iron  chain,  was  their  schooner. 
Moored  to  her,  one  on  each  side,  were  two  garbage- 
scows  ;  and  at  the  head  of  the  parade,  pretending  to 
tow  them  all, — puffing,  rolling,  and  smoking  in  the 
effort  to  keep  a  strain  on  the  tow-line, — and  tooting 
joyously  with  her  whistle,  was  a  little,  dingy  tug- 
boat, with  a  large  gilt  name  on  her  pilot-house — 
J.  C.  Hawks. 


BETWEEN  THE  MILLSTONES 

HE  stood  before  the  recruiting  officer,  trembling 
with  nervousness,  anxious  of  face,  and  clothed 
in  rags;  but  he  was  clean,  for,  knowing  the  moral 
effect  of  cleanliness,  he  had  lately  sought  the  beach 
and  taken  a  swim. 

"Want  to  enlist?"  asked  the  officer,  taking  his 
measure  with  trained  eye. 

"  Yes,  sir;  I  read  you  wanted  men  in  the  navy." 

"Want  seamen,  firemen,  and  landsmen.  What's 
your  occupation?  You  look  like  a  tramp." 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  bitterly,  "  I'm  a  tramp. 
That's  all  they'd  let  me  be.  I  used  to  be  a  locomo- 
tive engineer — before  the  big  strike.  Then  they 
blacklisted  me,  and  I've  never  had  a  job  above  labor- 
in'  work  since.  It's  easy  to  take  to  the  road  and  stay 
at  it  when  you  find  you  can't  make  over  a  dollar  a 
day  at  back-breakin'  work  after  earnin'  three  and 
four  at  the  throttle.  An  engineer  knows  nothin'  but 
his  trade,  sir.  Take  it  away,  and  he's  a  laborin* 
man. 

"I'd  ha*  worked  and  learned  another,  but  they 
jailed  me — put  me  in  choky,  'cause  I  had  no  visible 
means  o'  support.  I  had  no  money,  and  was  a  crim- 
inal under  the  law.  And  they  kept  at  it, — jailed  me 
again  and  again  as  a  vagrant, — when  all  I  wanted 
was  work.  After  a  while  I  didn't  care.  But  now's 
my  chance,  sir,  if  you'll  take  me  on.  I  don't  know 
much  about  boats  and  the  sea,  but  I  can  fire  an  en- 
gine, and  know  something  about  steam." 
139 


140        BETWEEN  THE  MILLSTONES 

"  A  fireman's  work  on  board  a  war-vessel  is  very 
different  from  that  of  a  locomotive  fireman,"  said 
the  officer,  leaning  back  in  his  chair. 

"  I  know,  sir ;  that  may  be,"  the  tramp  replied 
eagerly ;  "  but  I  can  shovel  coal,  and  I  can  learn, 
and  I  can  work.  I'm  not  very  strong  now,  'cause  I 
haven't  had  much  to  eat  o'  late  years ;  but  I'm  not  a 
drinkin'  man — why,  that  costs  more  than  grub.  Give 
me  a  chance,  sir;  I'm  an  American;  I'm  sick  o'  bein' 
hunted  from  jail  to  jail,  like  a  wild  animal,  just 
'cause  I  can't  be  satisfied  with  pick-and-shovel  work. 
I've  spent  half  o'  the  last  five  years  in  jail  as  a 
vagrant  I  put  in  a  month  at  Fernandina,  and  then 
I  was  chased  out  o'  town.  They  gave  me  two  months 
at  Cedar  Keys,  and  I  came  here,  only  to  get  a  month 
more  in  this  jail.  I  got  out  this  mornin',  and  was  told 
by  the  copper  who  pinched  me  to  get  out  o'  Pensa- 
cola  or  he'd  run  me  in  again.  And  he's  outside  now 
waitin*  for  me.  I  dodged  past  'im  to  get  in." 

"Pass  this  man  in  to  the  surgeon,"  said  the  of- 
ficer, with  something  like  a  sympathetic  snort  in  the 
tone  of  his  voice ;  for  he  also  was  an  American. 

An  orderly  escorted  him  to  the  surgeon,  who  ex- 
amined him  and  passed  him.  Then  the  recruit  signed 
his  name  to  a  paper. 

"  Emaciated,"  wrote  the  surgeon  in  his  daily  re- 
port ;  "  body  badly  nourished,  and  susceptible  to  any 
infection.  Shows  slight  febrile  symptoms,  which 
should  be  attended  to.  An  intelligent  man;  with 
good  food  and  care  will  become  valuable." 

The  tramp  marched  to  the  receiving-ship  with  a 
squad  of  other  recruits,  and  on  the  way  smiled 
triumphantly  into  the  face  of  a  mulatto  policeman, 
who  glared  at  him.  He  had  signed  his  name  on  a 


BETWEEN  THE  MILLSTONES        Ul 

piece  of  paper,  and  the  act  had  changed  his  status. 
From  a  hunted  fugitive  and  habitual  criminal  he 
had  become  a  defender  of  his  country's  honor — a 
potential  hero. 

On  board  the  receiving-ship  he  was  given  an  outfit 
of  clothes  and  bedding;  but  before  he  had  learned 
more  than  the  correct  way  to  lash  his  hammock  and 
tie  his  silk  neckerchief  he  was  detailed  for  sea  duty, 
and  with  a  draft  of  men  went  to  Key  West  in  a  navy- 
yard  tug;  for  war  was  on,  and  the  fleet  blockading 
Havana  needed  men. 

At  Key  West  he  was  appointed  fireman  on  a  tor- 
pedo-boat, where  his  work — which  he  soon  learned — 
was  to  keep  up  steam  in  a  tubular  boiler.  But  he 
learned  nothing  of  the  rest  of  the  boat,  her  business, 
or  the  reason  of  her  construction.  Seasickness  pre- 
vented any  assertion  of  curiosity  at  first,  and  later 
the  febrile  symptoms  which  the  examining  surgeon 
had  noted  developed  in  him  until  he  could  think  of 
nothing  else.  There  being  no  doctor  aboard  to  diag- 
nose his  case,  he  was  jeered  by  his  fellows,  and  kept 
at  work  until  he  dropped ;  then  he  took  to  his  ham- 
mock. Shooting  pains  darted  through  him,  center- 
ing in  his  head,  while  his  throat  was  dry  and  his 
thirst  tormenting. 

Life  on  a  torpedo-boat  engaged  in  despatch  duty 
and  rushing  through  a  Gulf  Stream  sea  at  thirty 
knots  is  torture  to  a  healthy,  nervous  system.  It 
sent  this  sick  man  into  speedy  delirium.  He  could 
eat  very  little,  but  he  drank  all  the  water  that  was 
given  him.  Moaning  and  muttering,  tossing  about 
in  his  hammock,  never  asleep,  but  sometimes  uncon- 
scious, at  other  times  raving,  and  occasionally  lucid, 
he  presented  a  problem  which  demanded  solution. 


142        BETWEEN  THE  MILLSTONES 

His  emaciated  face,  flushed  at  first,  had  taken  on  a 
peculiar  bronzed  appearance,  and  there  were  some 
who  declared  that  it  was  Yellow  Jack.  But  nothing 
could  be  done  until  they  reached  the  fleet  and  could 
interview  a  cruiser  with  a  surgeon. 

The  sick  man  solved  the  problem.  He  scrambled 
out  of  his  hammock  at  daylight  in  the  morning  and 
dressed  himself  in  his  blue  uniform,  carefully  tying 
his  black  neckerchief  in  the  regulation  knot.  Then, 
muttering  the  while,  he  gained  the  deck. 

The  boat  was  charging  along  at  full  speed,  throw- 
ing aside  a  bow  wave  nearly  as  high  as  herself. 
Three  miles  astern,  just  discernible  in  the  half-light, 
was  a  pursuing  ram-bowed  gunboat,  spitting  shot  and 
shell;  and  forward  near  the  conning-tower  were  two 
blue-coated,  brass-buttoned  officers,  watching  the  pur- 
suer through  binoculars. 

The  crazed  brain  of  the  sick  man  took  cognizance 
of  nothing  but  the  blue  coats  and  brass  buttons.  He 
did  not  look  for  locust  clubs  and  silver  shields.  These 
were  policemen — his  deadliest  enemies ;  but  he  would 
escape  them  this  time. 

With  a  yell  he  went  overboard,  and,  being  no 
swimmer,  would  have  drowned  had  not  one  of  the 
blue-coated  officers  flung  a  life-buoy.  He  came  to 
the  surface  somewhat  saner,  and  seized  the  white 
ring,  which  supported  him,  while  the  torpedo-boat 
rushed  on.  She  could  not  stop  for  one  man  in  time 
of  war,  with  a  heavily  armed  enemy  so  near. 

A  twenty-knot  gunboat  cannot  chase  a  thirty- 
knot  torpedo-boat  very  long  without  losing  her  be- 
low the  horizon;  but  this  pursuit  lasted  ten  minutes 
from  the  time  the  sick  man  went  overboard  before  the 
gunboat  ceased  firing  and  slackened  speed.  The 


BETWEEN  THE  MILLSTONES        143 

quarry  was  five  miles  away,  out  of  Spanish  range, 
and  the  floating  man  directly  under  her  bow.  He 
was  seen  and  taken  on  board,  with  Spanish  profanity 
sounding  in  his  unregarding  ears. 

He  lay  on  the  deck,  a  bedraggled  heap,  gibbering 
and  shivering,  while  a  surgeon,  with  cotton  in  his 
nostrils  and  smelling-salts  in  his  hand,  diagnosed  his 
case.  Then  the  gunboat  headed  north  and  dropped 
anchor  in  the  bight  of  a  small,  crescent-shaped  sand- 
key  of  the  Florida  Reef.  For  the  diagnosis  was  such 
as  to  suggest  prompt  action.  Two  brave  men 
bundled  him  into  the  dinghy,  lowered  it,  pulled 
ashore,  and  laid  him  on  the  sand. 

Returning,  they  stripped  and  threw  away  their 
clothing,  sank  the  boat  with  a  buoy  on  the  painter, 
took  a  swim,  and  climbed  aboard  to  be  further  disin- 
fected. Then  the  gunboat  lifted  her  anchor  and 
steamed  eastward,  her  officers  watching  through 
glasses  a  small,  low  torpedo-boat,  far  to  the  south- 
east,— too  far  to  be  reached  by  gun  fire, — which  was 
steering  a  parallel  course,  and  presumably  watching 
the  gunboat. 

An  idiot,  a  lunatic,  with  bloodshot  eyes  glaring 
from  a  yellow  face,  raved,  rolled,  and  staggered 
bareheaded  under  the  sun  about  the  sandy  crescent 
until  sundown,  then  fell  prostrate  and  unconscious 
into  the  water  on  the  beach,  luckily  turning  over  so 
that  his  nostrils  were  not  immersed.  The  tide  went 
down,  leaving  him  damp  and  still  on  the  sands.  In 
about  an  hour  a  sigh,  followed  by  a  deep,  gasping 
breath,  escaped  him;  another  long  inhalation  suc- 
ceeded, and  another;  then  came  steady,  healthy 
breathing  and  childlike  sleep,  with  perspira- 
tion oozing  f  roM  every  pore.  He  had  passed  a  crisis. 


144.        BETWEEN  THE  MILLSTONES 

About  midnight  the  cloudy  sky  cleared  and  the 
tropic  stars  came  out,  while  the  tide  climbed  the 
beach  again,  and  lapped  at  the  sleeping  man's  feet; 
but  he  did  not  waken,  even  when  the  Spanish  gun- 
boat stole  slowly  into  the  bay  from  the  sea  and 
dropped  anchor  with  a  loud  rattling  of  chain  in  the 
hawse-pipe.  A  boat  was  lowered,  and  a  single  man 
sculled  it  ashore;  then  lifting  out  a  small  cask  and 
bag,  he  placed  them  high  on  the  sands  and  looked 
around. 

Spying  the  sleeping  man,  half  immersed  now,  he 
approached  and  felt  of  the  damp  clothing  and 
equally  damp  face.  Not  noticing  that  he  breathed 
softly,  the  man  crossed  himself,  then  moved  quickly 
and  nervously  toward  his  boat,  muttering,  "  Muerto, 
muerto ! "  Pushing  out,  he  sculled  rapidly  toward 
the  anchored  craft,  and  disposed  of  the  boat  and 
his  clothing  as  had  been  done  before;  then  he  swam 
to  the  gangway  and  climbed  aboard. 

Shortly  after,  the  sleeping  man,  roused  by  the 
chill  of  the  water,  crawled  aimlessly  up  the  sand  and 
slept  again — safe  beyond  the  tide-line.  In  three 
hours  he  sat  up  and  rubbed  his  eyes,  half  awake,  but 
sane. 

Strange  sights  and  sounds  puzzled  him.  He 
knew  nothing  of  this  starlit  beach  and  stretch  of 
sparkling  water — nothing  of  that  long  black  craft 
at  anchor,  with  the  longer  beam  of  white  light  reach- 
ing over  the  sea  from  her  pilot-house.  He  could 
only  surmise  that  she  was  a  war-vessel  from  the 
ram-bow, — a  feature  of  the  government  model  which 
had  impressed  him  at  Key  West, — and  from  the  noise 
she  was  making.  She  quivered  in  a  maze  of  flickering 
red  flashes,  and  the  rattling  din  of  her  rapid-fire  and 


BETWEEN  THE  MILLSTONES        145 

machine  guns  transcended  in  volume  all  the  roadside 
blastings  he  had  heard  in  his  wanderings.  Dazed 
and  astonished,  he  rose  to  his  feet,  but,  too  weak  to 
stand,  sat  down  again  and  looked. 

Half  a  mile  seaward,  where  the  beam  of  light  ended, 
a  small  craft,  low  down  between  two  crested  waves, 
was  speeding  toward  the  gunboat  in  the  face  of  her 
fire.  The  water  about  her  was  lashed  into  turmoil  by 
the  hail  of  projectiles ;  but  she  kept  on,  at  locomotive 
speed,  until  within  a  thousand  feet  of  the  gunboat, 
when  she  turned  sharply  to  starboard,  doubled  on 
her  track,  and  raced  off  to  sea,  still  covered  by  the 
search-light  and  followed  by  shot  and  shell  while 
the  gunners  could  see  her. 

When  the  gun  fire  ceased,  a  hissing  of  steam  could 
be  heard  in  the  distance,  and  a  triumphant  Spanish 
yell  answered.  The  small  enemy  had  been  struck, 
and  the  gunboat  slipped  her  cable  and  followed. 

The  tired  brain  could  not  cope  with  the  problem, 
and  again  the  man  slept,  to  awaken  at  sunrise  with 
ravenous  hunger  and  thirst,  and  a  memory  of  what 
seemed  to  be  horrible  dreams, — vague  recollections 
of  painful  experiences, — torturing  labor  with  aching 
muscles  and  blistered  hands ;  harsh  words  and  ridicule 
from  strong,  bearded  men;  and  running  through 
and  between,  the  shadowy  figures  of  blue-coated, 
brass-buttoned  men,  continually  ordering  him  on,  and 
threatening  arrest.  The  spectacle  of  the  night  was  as 
dream-like  as  the  rest ;  for  he  remembered  nothing  of 
the  gunboat  which  had  rescued  and  marooned  him. 

His  face  had  lost  its  yellowish-bronze  color,  but 
was  pale  and  emaciated  as  ever,  while  his  sunken  eyes 
held  the  soft  light  which  always  comes  of  extreme 
physical  suffering.  He  was  too  weak  to  remain  on 


146        BETWEEN  THE  MILLSTONES 

his  feet,  but  in  the  effort  to  do  so  he  spied  the  cask 
and  bag  higher  up  on  the  beach  and  crawled  to  them. 
Prying  a  plug  from  the  bunghole  with  his  knife,  he 
found  water,  sweet  and  delicious,  which  he  drank  by 
rolling  the  cask  carefully  and  burying  his  lips  in  the 
overflow.  Evidently  some  one  in  authority  on  the 
gunboat  had  decreed  that  he  should  not  die  of  hunger 
or  thirst,  for  the  bag  contained  hard  bread. 

Stronger  after  a  meal,  he  climbed  the  highest 
sand-dune  and  studied  the  situation.  An  outcrop- 
ping of  coral  formed  the  backbone  of  the  thin 
crescent  which  held  him,  and  which  was  about  half  a 
mile  between  the  points.  To  the  south,  opening  out 
from  the  bay,  was  a  clear  stretch  of  sea,  green  in 
the  sunlight,  deep  blue  in  the  shadows  of  the  clouds, 
and  on  the  horizon  were  a  few  sails  and  smoke 
columns.  West  and  east  were  other  sandy  islets  and 
coral  reefs,  and  to  the  north  a  continuous  line  of 
larger  islands  which  might  be  inhabited,  but  gave 
no  indication  of  it. 

Out  in  the  bay,  bobbing  to  the  heave  of  the  slight 
ground-swell,  were  the  three  white  buoys  left  by  the 
Spaniards  to  mark  the  sunken  boats  and  slipped 
cable;  and  far  away  on  the  beach,  just  within  the 
western  point,  was  something  long  and  round,  which 
rolled  in  the  gentle  surf  and  glistened  in  the  sunlight. 
He  knew  nothing  of  buoys,  but  they  relieved  his 
loneliness;  they  were  signs  of  human  beings,  who 
must  have  placed  him  there  with  the  bread  and  water, 
and  who  might  come  for  him. 

"  Wonder  if  I  got  pinched  again,  and  this  is  some 
new  kind  of  a  choky,"  he  mused.  "  Been  blamed 
sick  and  silly,  and  must  ha*  lost  the  job  and  got 
jailed  again.  Just  my  luck!  S'pose  the  jug  was 


BETWEEN  THE  MILLSTONES        147 

crowded  and  they  run  me  out  here.  Wish  they'd 
left  me  a  hat.  Wonder  how  long  I'm  in  for  this 
time." 

He  descended  to  the  beach  and  found  that  repeated 
wettings  of  his  hair  relieved  him  from  the  headache 
that  the  sun's  heat  was  bringing  on ;  and  satisfied  that 
the  strong  hand  of  local  law  had  again  closed  over 
him,  he  resigned  himself  to  the  situation,  resenting 
only  the  absence  of  a  shade-tree  or  a  hat.  "  Much 
better'n  the  calaboose  in  El  Paso,"  he  muttered,  "  or 
the  brickyard  in  Chicago." 

As  he  lolled  on  the  sand,  the  glistening  thing  over 
at  the  western  point  again  caught  his  eye.  After  a 
moment's  scrutiny  he  rose  and  limped  toward  it,  fol- 
lowing the  concave  of  the  beach,  and  often  pausing 
to  rest  and  bathe  his  head.  It  was  a  long  journey 
for  him,  and  the  tide,  at  half -ebb  when  he  started, 
was  rising  again  when  he  came  abreast  of  the  object 
and  sat  down  to  look  at  it.  It  was  of  metal,  long 
and  round,  rolling  nearly  submerged,  and  held  by 
the  alternate  surf  and  undertow  parallel  with  the 
beach,  about  twenty  feet  out. 

He  waded  in,  grasped  it  by  a  T-shaped  projection 
in  the  middle,  and  headed  it  toward  the  shore.  Then 
he  launched  it  forward  with  all  his  strength — not 
much,  but  enough  to  lift  a  bluntly  pointed  end  out 
of  water  as  it  grounded  and  exposed  a  small,  four- 
bladed  steel  wheel,  shaped  something  like  a  wind- 
mill. He  examined  this,  but  could  not  understand 
it,  as  it  whirled  freely  either  way  and  seemed  to  have 
no  internal  connection.  The  strange  cylinder  was 
about  sixteen  feet  long  and  about  eighteen  inches  in 
diameter. 

"Boat  o'  some  kind,"  he  muttered;  "but  what 


148        BETWEEN  THE  MILLSTONES 

kind?  That  screw's  too  small  to  make  it  go.  Let's 
see  the  other  end." 

He  launched  it  with  difficulty,  and  noticed  that 
when  floating  end  on  to  the  surf  it  ceased  to  roll 
and  kept  the  T-shaped  projection  uppermost,  prov- 
ing that  it  was  ballasted.  Swinging  it,  he  grounded 
the  other  end,  which  was  radically  different  in  ap- 
pearance. It  was  long  and  finely  pointed,  with  four 
steel  blades  or  vanes,  two  horizontal  and  two  vertical, 
— like  the  double  tails  of  an  ideal  fish, — and  in  hol- 
lowed parts  of  these  vanes  were  hung  a  pair  of  un- 
mistakable propellers,  one  behind  the  other,  and  of 
opposite  pitch  and  motion. 

"  One  works  on  the  shaft,  t'other  on  a  sleeve,"  he 
mused,  as  he  turned  them.  "A  roundhouse  wiper 
could  see  that.  Bevel-gearin'  inside,  I  guess.  It's  a 
boat,  sure  enough,  and  this  reverse  action  must  be 
to  keep  her  from  rolling." 

On  each  of  the  four  vanes  he  found  a  small  blade, 
showing  by  its  connection  that  it  possessed  range  of 
action,  yet  immovable  as  the  vane  itself,  as  though 
held  firmly  by  inner  leverage.  Those  on  the  hori- 
zontal vanes  were  tilted  upward.  Just  abaft  the 
T-shaped  projection — which,  fastened  firmly  to  the 
hull,  told  him  nothing  of  its  purpose — were  numerous 
brass  posts  buried  flush  with  the  surface,  in  each  of 
which  was  a  square  hole,  as  though  intended  to  be 
turned  with  a  key  or  crank.  Some  were  marked 
with  radiating  lines  and  numbers,  and  they  evidently 
controlled  the  inner  mechanism,  part  of  which  he 
could  see — little  brass  cog-wheels,  worms,  and  levers 
— through  a  fore-and-aft  slot  near  the  keyholes. 

Rising  from  the  forward  end  of  this  slot,  and  lying 
close  to  the  metal  hull  in  front  of  it,  was  a  strong 


BETWEEN  THE  MILLSTONES        140 

lever  of  brass,  L-shaped,  connected  internally,  and 
indicating  to  his  trained  mechanical  mind  that  its 
only  sphere  of  action  was  to  lift  up  and  sink  back 
into  the  slot.  He  fingered  it,  but  did  not  yet  try  to 
move  it.  A  little  to  the  left  of  this  lever  was  a  small 
blade  of  steel,  curved  to  fit  the  convex  hull, — which 
it  hugged  closely, — and  hinged  at  its  forward  edge. 
This,  too,  must  have  a  purpose, — an  internal  con- 
nection,— and  he  did  not  disturb  it  until  he  had 
learned  more. 

To  the  right  of  the  brass  lever  was  an  oblong 
hatch  about  eight  inches  long,  flush  with  the  hull, 
and  held  in  place  by  screws.  Three  seams,  with  lines 
of  screws,  encircled  the  round  hull,  showing  that  it 
was  constructed  in  four  sections ;  and  these  screws, 
with  those  in  the  hatch,  were  strong  and  numerous 
— placed  there  to  stay. 

Fatigued  from  his  exertion,  he  moistened  his  hair, 
sat  down,  and  watched  the  incoming  tide  swing  the 
craft  round  parallel  with  the  beach.  As  the  sub- 
merged bow  raised  to  a  level  with  the  stern,  he  noticed 
that  the  small  blades  on  the  horizontal  vanes  dropped 
from  their  upward  slant  to  a  straight  line  with  the 
vanes. 

"  Rudders,"  he  said,  "  horizontal  rudders.  Can't 
be  anything  else."  With  his  chin  in  his  hand  and 
his  wrinkled  brow  creased  with  deeper  corrugations, 
he  put  his  mind  through  a  process  of  inductive  rea- 
soning. 

"  Horizontal  rudders,"  he  mused,  "  must  be  to 
keep  her  from  diving,  or  to  make  her  dive.  They 
work  automatically,  and  I  s'pose  the  vertical  rudders 
are  the  same.  There's  nothing  outside  to  turn  'em 
with.  That  boat  isn't  made  to  ride  in, — no  way  to 


150        BETWEEN  THE  MILLSTONES 

get  into  her, — and  she  isn't  big  enough,  anyhow. 
And  as  you  can't  get  into  her,  that  brass  lever  must 
be  what  starts  and  stops  her.  Wonder  what  the 
steel  blade's  for.  'Tisn't  a  handy  shape  for  a  lever, 
— to  be  handled  with  fingers, — too  sharp ;  but  it  has 
work  to  do,  or  it  wouldn't  be  there.  That  section  o' 
railroad  iron  on  top  must  be  to  hang  the  boat  by, — 
a  traveler, — when  she's  out  o*  water. 

"  And  the  fan- wheel  on  the  nose — what's  that  for? 
If  it's  a  speed  or  distance  indicator,  the  dial's  inside, 
out  o*  sight.  There's  no  exhaust,  so  the  motive 
power  can't  be  steam.  Clockwork  or  electricity, 
maybe.  Mighty  fine  workmanship  all  through !  That 
square  door  is  fitted  in  for  keeps,  and  she  must  ha* 
cost  a  heap.  Now,  as  she  has  horizontal  rudders, 
she's  intended  to  steer  up  and  down;  and  as  there's 
no  way  to  get  into  her  or  to  stay  on  her,  and  as  she 
can't  be  started  from  the  inside  or  steered  from  the 
outside,  I  take  it  she's  a  model  o'  one  o'  those  sub- 
marine boats  I've  heard  of — some  fellow's  invention 
that's  got  away  from  him.  Guess  I'll  try  that  lever 
and  see  what  happens.  I'll  bury  the  propellers, 
though ;  no  engine  ought  to  race." 

He  pushed  the  craft  into  deeper  water,  pointed  it 
shoreward,  and  cautiously  lifted  the  curved  blade 
to  a  perpendicular  position,  as  high  as  it  would  go. 
Nothing  happened.  He  lowered  it,  raised  it  again, — 
it  worked  very  easily, — then,  leaving  it  upright,  he 
threw  the  long  brass  lever  back  into  the  slot.  A 
slight  humming  came  from  within,  the  propellers 
revolved  slowly,  and  the  craft  moved  ahead  until  the 
bow  grounded.  Then  he  followed  and  lifted  the  lever 
out  of  the  slot  to  its  first  position,  shutting  off  the 
power. 


BETWEEN  THE  MILLSTONES        151 

Delighted  with  his  success,  he  backed  it  out  farther 
than  before  and  again  threw  back  the  brass  lever, 
this  time  with  the  curved  blade  down  flat  on  the  hull. 
With  the  sinking  of  the  lever  into  the  slot  the 
mechanism  within  gave  forth  a  rushing  sound,  the 
propellers  at  the  stern  threw  up  a  mound  of  foam, 
and  the  craft  shot  past  him,  dived  until  it  glanced 
on  the  sandy  bottom,  then  slid  a  third  of  its  length 
out  of  water  on  the  beach  and  stopped,  the  propellers 
still  churning,  and  the  small  wheel  on  the  nose 
still  spinning  with  the  motion  given  it  by  the 
water. 

"  Air-pressure ! "  he  exclaimed,  as  he  shut  it  off. 
He  had  seen  a  line  of  bubbles  rise  as  the  thing  dived. 
"  An  air-engine,  and  the  whole  thing  must  be  full  o' 
compressed  air.  The  brass  lever  turns  it  on,  and  if 
the  steel  blade's  up  it  gives  it  the  slow  motion ;  if  it's 
down,  she  gets  full  speed  at  once.  Now  I  know  why 
it's  blade-shaped.  It's  so  the  water  itself  can  push  it 
down — after  she  starts." 

He  did  not  try  to  launch  it ;  he  waited  until  the 
tide  floated  it,  then  pushed  it  along  the  beach  toward 
his  store  of  food,  arriving  at  high  water  too  ex- 
hausted to  do  more  that  day  than  ground  his  capture 
and  break  hard  bread.  And  as  the  afternoon  drew 
to  a  close  the  fatigue  in  his  limbs  became  racking 
pain;  either  as  a  result  of  his  exposure,  or  as  a  later 
symptom  of  the  fever,  he  was  now  in  the  clutch  of  a 
new  enemy — rheumatism. 

Then,  with  the  coming  of  night  came  a  return  of 
his  first  violent  symptoms;  he  was  hot,  shivery,  and 
feverish  by  turns,  with  dry  tongue  and  throat,  and 
a  splitting  headache;  but  in  this  condition  he  could 
still  take  cognizance  of  a  black,  ram-bowed  gunboat, 


152        BETWEEN  THE  MILLSTONES 

which  stole  into  the  bay  from  the  east  and  dropped 
anchor  near  the  buoys. 

A  half-moon  shone  in  the  western  sky,  and  by  its 
light  the  steamer  presented  an  unkempt,  broken 
appearance,  even  to  the  untrained  eye  of  this  cast- 
away. Her  after-funnel  was  but  half  as  high  as  the 
other ;  there  were  gaps  in  her  iron  rail,  and  vacancies 
below  the  twisted  davits  where  boats  should  be;  and 
her  pilot-house  was  wrecked — the  starboard  door 
and  nearest  window  merged  in  a  large,  ragged  hole. 

Officers  on  the  bridge  gave  orders  in  foreign 
speech,  in  tones  which  came  shoreward  faintly.  Men 
sprang  overboard  with  ropes,  which  they  fastened  to 
the  buoys ;  then  they  swam  back,  and  for  an  hour 
or  two  the  whole  crew  was  busy  getting  the  boats  to 
the  davits  and  the  end  of  the  cable  into  the  hawse- 
pipe. 

The  man  on  the  beach  recognized  the  craft  he  had 
seen  when  he  wakened. 

He  felt  that  she  must  ia  some  way  be  connected 
with  his  being  there,  and  he  waited,  expecting  to  see 
a  boat  put  off;  but  when  both  boats  were  hoisted 
and  he  heard  the  humming  of  a  steam-windlass,  he 
gave  up  this  expectation  and  tried  to  hail. 

His  voice  could  not  rise  above  a  hoarse  whisper. 
The  anchor  was  fished,  and  after  an  interval  he  heard 
the  windlass  again,  heaving  in  the  other  chain.  They 
were  going  away — going  to  leave  him  there  to  die. 

He  crawled  and  stumbled  down  to  the  water's  edge. 
The  tide  was  up  again,  rippling  around  the 
strange  thing  he  had  resolved  to  navigate.  It  was 
not  a  boat,  but  it  would  go  ahead,  and  it  would  float 
— it  would  possibly  float  him. 

With  strength  born  of  desperation  and  fear,  he 


BETWEEN  THE  MILLSTONES        153 

pushed  it,  inch  by  inch,  into  the  water  until  it  was 
clear  of  the  sand,  and  tried  the  engine  on  the  slow 
motion.  The  propellers  turned  and  satisfied  him. 
He  shut  off  the  power,  swung  the  thing  round  until 
it  pointed  toward  the  steamer,  and  seated  himself 
astride  of  it,  just  abaft  the  T-shaped  projection  in 
the  middle.  The  long  cylinder  sank  with  him,  and 
when  it  had  steadied  to  a  balance  between  his  weight 
and  its  buoyancy  he  found  that  it  bore  him,  shoulders 
out;  and  the  position  he  had  taken — within  reach  of 
the  levers  behind  him — lifted  the  blunt  nose  higher 
than  the  stern,  but  not  out  of  water.  This  was 
practicable. 

He  reached  behind,  raised  the  blade  lever,  threw 
back  the  large  brass  lever,  and  the  craft  went  ahead, 
at  about  the  speed  of  a  healthy  man's  walk.  He 
kept  his  left  hand  on  the  blade  lever  to  hold  it  up, 
and  by  skillful  paddling  with  his  right  maintained 
his  balance  and  assisted  his  legs  in  steering.  He  had 
never  learned  to  swim,  but  he  felt  less  fear  of  drown- 
ing than  of  slow  death  on  the  island. 

In  five  minutes  he  was  near  enough  to  the  steamer 
to  read  her  name.  He  pulled  the  starting-lever  for- 
ward, stopping  his  headway;  for  he  must  be  sure  of 
his  welcome. 

"  Say,  boss,"  he  called,  faintly  and  hoarsely,  "  take 
me  along,  can't  you?  Or  else  gi'  me  some  medicine. 
I'm  blamed  sick— I'll  die  if  I  stay  here." 

The  noise  of  the  windlass  and  chain  prevented  this 
being  heard,  but  at  last,  after  repeated  calls  on  his 
part,  a  Spanish  howl  went  up  from  amidships,  and 
a  sailor  sprang  from  one  of  the  boats  to  the  deck, 
crossed  himself,  and  pointing  to  the  man  in  the  water, 
ran  forward. 


154.        BETWEEN  THE  MILLSTONES 

"  Madre  de  Dios ! "  he  yelled.  "  El  aparecido  del 
muerto." 

Work  stopped,  and  a  call  down  a  hatchway 
stopped  the  windlass.  In  ports  and  dead-lights  ap- 
peared faces ;  and  those  on  deck,  officers  and  men, 
crowded  to  the  rail,  some  to  cross  themselves,  some 
to  sink  on  their  knees,  others  to  grip  the  rail  tightly, 
while  they  stared  in  silence  at  the  torso  and  livid 
face  in  the  moonlight  on  the  sea — the  ghastly  face 
of  the  man  they  had  marooned  to  die  alone,  who  had 
been  seen  later  dead  on  the  beach. 

"  Take  me  with  you,  boss,"  he  pleaded  with  his 
weak  voice.  "  I'm  sick ;  I  can't  hold  on  much  longer." 

It  was  not  the  dead  man's  body  washed  out  from 
the  beach,  for  it  moved,  it  spoke.  And  it  was  not  a 
living  man ;  no  man  may  recover  from  advanced 
yellow  fever,  and  this  man  had  been  found  afterward, 
dead — cold  and  still.  And  no  living  man  may  swim 
in  this  manner — high  out  of  water,  patting  and 
splashing  with  one  hand.  It  was  a  ghost.  It  had 
come  to  punish  them. 

"For  que  nos  atormentan  asi,  hombre,  deja?" 
cried  a  white-faced  officer. 

"Can't  you  hear  me?"  asked  the  apparition. 
"  I'll  come  closer." 

He  threw  back  the  starting  lever,  and  the  thing 
began  moving.  Then  a  rifle-barrel  protruded  from  a 
dead-light.  There  was  a  report  and  a  flash,  and  a 
bullet  passed  through  his  hair.  The  shock  startled 
him,  and  he  lost  his  balance.  In  the  effort  to  recover 
it  his  leg  knocked  down  the  blade  lever,  and  the  steel 
cylinder  sprang  forward,  leaving  him  floundering  in 
the  water.  Pointed  upward,  it  appeared  for  a  mo- 
ment on  the  surface,  then  dived  like  a  porpoise  and 


BETWEEN  THE  MILLSTONES        155 

disappeared.  In  five  seconds  something  happened  to 
the  gunboat. 

Coincident  with  a  sound  like  near-by  thunder,  the 
black  craft  lifted  amidships  like  a  bending  jack- 
knife,  and  up  from  the  shattered  deck,  and  out  from 
ports,  doors,  and  dead-lights,  came  a  volcano  of 
flame  and  smoke.  The  sea  beneath  followed  in  a 
mound,  which  burst  like  a  great  bubble,  sending  a 
cloud  of  steam  and  spray  and  whitish-yellow  smoke 
aloft  to  mingle  with  the  first  and  meet  the  falling 
fragments.  These  fell  for  several  seconds — hatches, 
gratings,  buckets,  ladders,  splinters  of  wood,  parts 
of  men,  and  men  whole,  but  limp. 

A  side-ladder  fell  near  the  choking  and  half- 
stunned  sick  man,  and  he  seized  it.  Before  he  could 
crawl  on  top  the  two  halves  of  the  gunboat  had  sunk 
in  a  swirl  of  bubbles  and  whirlpools. 

A  few  broken  and  bleeding,  swimmers  approached 
to  share  his  support,  saw  his  awful  face  in  the  moon- 
light, and  swam  away. 

A  few  hours  later  a  gray  cruiser  loomed  up  close 
by  and  directed  a  search-light  at  him.  Then  a  gray 
cutter  full  of  white-clad  men  approached  and  took 
him  off  the  ladder.  He  was  delirious  again,  and 
bleeding  from  mouth,  nose,  and  ears. 

THE  surgeon  and  the  torpedo-lieutenant  came  up 
from  the  sick-bay,  the  latter  with  enthusiasm  on  his 
face, — for  he  was  young, — and  joined  a  group  of 
officers  on  the  quarter-deck. 

"  He'll  pull  through,  gentlemen,"  said  the  surgeon. 
"  He  is  the  man  Mosher  lost  overboard,  though  he 
doesn't  know  anything  about  it,  nor  how  he  got  on 
that  sand-key.  I  suppose  the  Destructor  picked  him 


156        BETWEEN  THE  MILLSTONES 

up  and  landed  him.  He  found  bread  and  water,  he 
says.  You  see,  the  first  symptoms  are  similar  in 
Yellow  Jack  and  relapsing  bilious  fever.  I  don't 
wonder  that  Mosher  was  nervous." 

"  Then  it  was  the  Destructor?  "  asked  an  ensign, 
pulling  out  a  note-book  and  a  pencil.  "  And  Lieu- 
tenant Mosher  was  right,  after  all?  " 

"  Yes ;  this  man  read  her  name  before  she  blew  up ; 
and  a  Spanish  sailor  has  waked  up  and  confirmed  it. 
She  was  the  Destructor,  just  over,  and  trying  to  get 
into  Havana.  Instead  of  blowing  up  in  Algeciras 
Bay,  as  they  thought,  she  had  left  with  despatches 
for  Havana,  only  to  blow  up  on  the  Florida  Reef." 

"  The  Destructor,"  said  the  ensign,  as  he  pocketed 
his  note-book  and  pencil,  "  carried  fifty-five  men. 
Don't  we  get  the  bounty  as  the  nearest  craft  ?  " 

"  Not  much,"  said  the  young  and  enthusiastic  tor- 
pedo-lieutenant. "  We  were  not  even  within  signal 
distance,  and  came  along  by  accident.  Listen,  all 
of  you.  When  an  American  war-craft  sinks  or  de- 
stroys a  larger  enemy,  there  is  a  bounty  due  her 
crew  of  two  hundred  dollars  for  every  man  on  board 
the  enemy.  That  is  law,  isn't  it?  "  They  nodded. 
"  If  a  submarine  boat  can  be  a  war-craft,  so  may  a 
Whitehead  torpedo,  and  certainly  is  one,  being  built 
for  war.  A  war-craft  abandoned  is  a  derelict,  and 
the  man  who  finds  her  becomes  her  lawful  commander 
for  the  time.  If  he  belongs  to  the  navy  his  position 
is  strengthened,  and  if  he  is  alone  he  is  not  only 
commander,  but  the  whole  crew,  and  consequently 
he  is  entitled  to  all  the  bounty  she  may  earn.  That 
is  law. 

"  Now,  listen  hard.  Lieutenant  Mosher  sent  one 
torpedo  at  the  gunboat ;  it  missed  and  became  derelict, 


BETWEEN  THE  MILLSTONES        15T 

while  Mosher  escaped  under  one  boiler.  This  man 
found  the  derelict  adrift,  puzzled  out  the  action, 
waited  until  the  gunboat  came  back  for  her  anchor, 
then  straddled  his  craft,  and  rode  out  with  the 
water-tripper  up.  They  shot  at  him.  He  turned 
his  dog  loose  and  destroyed  the  enemy.  If  the  De- 
structor carried  fifty-five  men  he  is  entitled  to  eleven 
thousand  dollars,  and  the  government  must  pay,  for 
that  is  law." 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  MONSTERS 

EXTRACT    from    hospital    record    of   the    case 
of    John    Anderson,    patient    of    Dr.    Brown, 
Ward  3,  Room  6: 

August  3.  Arrived  at  hospital  in  extreme  mental  distress, 
having  been  bitten  on  wrist  three  hours  previously  by  dog 
known  to  have  been  rabid.  Large,  strong  man,  full-blooded 
and  well  nourished.  Sanguine  temperament.  Pulse  and  tem- 
perature higher  than  normal,  due  to  excitement.  Cauterized 
wound  at  once  (2  P.M.)  and  inoculated  with  antitoxin. 

As  patient  admits  having  recently  escaped,  by  swimming 
ashore,  from  lately  arrived  cholera  ship,  now  at  quarantine,  he 
has  been  isolated  and  clothing  disinfected.  Watch  for  symp- 
toms of  cholera. 

August  3,  6  P.M.  Microscopic  examination  of  blood  cor- 
roborative of  MetchnikofFs  theory  of  fighting  leucocytes. 
White  corpuscles  gorged  with  bacteria. 


He  was  an  amphibian,  and,  as  such,  undeniably 
beautiful;  for  the  sunlight,  refracted  and  diffused 
in  the  water,  gave  his  translucent,  pearl-blue  body 
all  the  shifting  colors  of  the  spectrum.  Vigorous 
and  graceful  of  movement,  in  shape  he  resembled 
a  comma  of  three  dimensions,  twisted,  when  at  rest, 
to  a  slight  spiral  curve;  but  in  traveling  he  straight- 
ened out  with  quick  successive  jerks,  each  one  send- 
ing him  ahead  a  couple  of  lengths.  Supplemented 
by  the  undulatory  movement  of  a  long  continuation 
of  his  tail,  it  was  his  way  of  swimming,  good  enough 
to  enable  him  to  escape  his  enemies ;  this,  and  riding 
at  anchor  in  a  current  by  his  cable-like  appendage, 
constituting  his  main  occupation  in  life.  The 
158 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  MONSTERS     159 

pleasure  of  eating  was  denied  him;  nature  had  given 
him  a  mouth,  but  he  used  it  only  for  purposes  of 
offense  and  defense,  absorbing  his  food  in  a  most 
unheard-of  manner — through  the  soft  walls  of  his 
body. 

Yet  he  enjoyed  a  few  social  pleasures.  Though 
the  organs  of  the  five  senses  were  missing  in  his 
economy,  he  possessed  an  inner  sixth  sense  which 
answered  for  all  and  also  gave  him  power  of  speech. 
He  would  converse,  swap  news  and  views,  with  crea- 
tures of  his  own  and  other  species,  provided  that 
they  were  of  equal  size  and  prowess ;  but  he  wasted 
no  time  on  any  but  his  social  peers.  Smaller  crea- 
tures he  pursued  when  they  annoyed  him;  larger 
ones  pursued  him. 

The  sunlight,  which  made  him  so  beautiful  to 
look  at,  was  distasteful  to  him ;  it  also  made  him  too 
visible.  He  preferred  a  half-darkness  and  less  fervor 
to  life's  battle — time  to  judge  of  chances,  to  figure 
on  an  enemy's  speed  and  turning-circle,  before  be- 
ginning flight  or  pursuit.  But  his  dislike  of  it  really 
came  of  a  stronger  animus — a  shuddering  recollec- 
tion of  three  hours  once  passed  on  dry  land  in  a 
comatose  condition,  which  had  followed  a  particu- 
larly long  and  intense  period  of  bright  sunlight. 
He  had  never  been  able  to  explain  the  connection, 
but  the  awful  memory  still  saddened  his  life. 

And  now  it  seemed,  as  he  swam  about,  that  this 
experience  might  be  repeated.  The  light  was  strong 
and  long-continued,  the  water  uncomfortably  warm, 
and  the  crowd  about  him  denser — so  much  so  as  to 
prevent  him  from  attending  properly  to  a  social 
inferior  who  had  crossed  his  bow.  But  just  as  his 
mind  grasped  the  full  imminence  of  the  danger,  there 


160    THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  MONSTERS 

came  a  sudden  darkness,  a  crash  and  vibration  of 
the  water,  then  a  terrible,  rattling  roar  of  sound. 
The  social  inferior  slipped  from  his  mouth,  and 
with  his  crowding  neighbors  was  washed  far  away, 
while  he  felt  himself  slipping  along,  bounding  and 
rebounding  against  the  projections  of  a  corrugated 
wall  which  showed  white  in  the  gloom.  There  was  an 
unpleasant  taste  to  the  water,  and  he  became  aware 
of  creatures  in  his  vicinity  unlike  any  he  had 
known, — quickly  darting  little  monsters  about  a 
tenth  as  large  as  himself, — thousands  of  them,  black 
and  horrid  to  see,  each  with  short,  fish-like  body  and 
square  head  like  that  of  a  dog;  with  wicked  mouth 
that  opened  and  shut  nervously;  with  hooked  flip- 
pers on  the  middle  part,  and  a  bunch  of  tentacles  on 
the  fore  that  spread  out  ahead  and  around.  A 
dozen  of  them  surrounded  him  menacingly ;  but  he 
was  young  and  strong,  much  larger  than  they,  and 
a  little  frightened.  A  blow  of  his  tail  killed  two,  and 
the  rest  drew  off. 

The  current  bore  them  on  until  the  white  wall 
rounded  off  and  was  lost  to  sight  beyond  the  mass 
of  darting  creatures.  Here  was  slack  water,  and 
with  desperate  effort  he  swam  back,  pushing  the 
small  enemies  out  of  his  path,  meeting  some  resist- 
ance and  receiving  a  few  bites,  until,  in  a  hollow 
in  the  wall,  he  found  temporary  refuge  and  time  to 
think.  But  he  could  not  solve  the  problem.  He 
had  not  the  slightest  idea  where  he  was  or  what 
had  happened — who  and  what  were  the  strange 
black  creatures,  or  why  they  had  threatened  him. 

His  thoughts  were  interrupted.  Another  vibrant 
roar  sounded,  and  there  was  pitch-black  darkness ; 
then  he  was  pushed  and  washed  away  from  his  shelter, 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  MONSTERS  161 

jostled,  bumped,  and  squeezed,  until  he  found  himself 
in  a  dimly  lighted  tunnel,  which,  crowded  as  it  was 
with  swimmers,  was  narrow  enough  to  enable  him 
to  see  both  sides  at  once.  The  walls  were  dark 
brown  and  blue,  broken  up  everywhere  into  depres- 
sions or  caves,  some  of  them  so  deep  as  to  be  almost 
like  blind  tunnels.  The  dog-faced  creatures  were 
there — as  far  as  he  could  see;  but  besides  them, 
now,  were  others,  of  stranger  shape — of  species  un- 
known to  him. 

A  slow  current  carried  them  on,  and  soon  they 
entered  a  larger  tunnel.  He  swam  to  the  opposite 
wall,  gripped  a  projection,  and  watched  in  wonder 
and  awe  the  procession  gliding  by.  He  soon  no- 
ticed the  source  of  the  dim  light.  A  small  creature 
with  barrel-like  body  and  innumerable  legs  or  ten- 
tacles, wavering  and  reaching,  floated  past.  Its  body 
swelled  and  shrank  alternately,  with  every  swelling 
giving  out  a  phosphorescent  glow,  with  every  con- 
traction darkening  to  a  faint  red  color.  Then  came 
a  group  of  others ;  then  a  second  living  lamp ;  later 
another  and  another:  they  were  evenly  distributed, 
and  illumined  the  tunnel. 

There  were  monstrous  shapes,  living  but  inert, 
barely  pulsing  with  dormant  life,  as  much  larger  than 
himself  as  the  dog-headed  kind  were  smaller — huge, 
unwieldy,  disk-shaped  masses  of  tissue,  light  gray  at 
the  margins,  dark  red  in  the  middle.  They  were  in 
the  majority,  and  blocked  the  view.  Darting  and 
wriggling  between  and  about  them  were  horrible 
forms,  some  larger  than  himself,  others  smaller. 
There  were  serpents,  who  swam  with  a  serpent's 
motion.  Some  were  serpents  in  form,  but  were 
curled  rigidly  into  living  corkscrews,  and  by  sculling 


162    THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  MONSTERS 

with  their  tails  screwed  their  way  through  the  water 
with  surprising  rapidity.  Others  were  barrel-  or 
globe-shaped,  with  swarming  tentacles.  With  these 
they  pulled  themselves  along,  in  and  out  through  the 
crowd,  or,  bringing  their  squirming  appendages  rear- 
ward,— each  an  individual  snake, — used  them  as  pro- 
pellers, and  swam.  There  were  creatures  in  the  form 
of  long  cylinders,  some  with  tentacles  by  which  they 
rolled  along  like  a  log  in  a  tideway;  others,  without 
appendages,  were  as  inert  and  helpless  as  the  huge 
red-and-gray  disks.  He  saw  four  ball-shaped  crea- 
tures float  by,  clinging  together;  then  a  group  of 
eight,  then  one  of  twelve.  All  these,  to  the  extent 
of  their  volition,  seemed  to  be  in  a  state  of  extreme 
agitation  and  excitement. 

The  cause  was  apparent.  The  tunnel  from  which 
he  had  come  was  still  discharging  the  dog-faced 
animals  by  the  thousand,  and  he  knew  now  the  busi- 
ness they  were  on.  It  was  war — war  to  the  death. 
They  flung  themselves  with  furious  energy  into  the 
parade,  fighting  and  biting  all  they  could  reach.  A 
hundred  at  a  time  would  pounce  on  one  of  the  large 
red-and-gray  creatures,  almost  hiding  it  from  view; 
then,  and  before  they  had  passed  out  of  sight,  they 
would  fall  off  and  disperse,  and  the  once  living  victim 
would  come  with  them,  in  parts.  The  smaller,  active 
swimmers  fled,  but  if  one  was  caught,  he  suffered;  a 
quick  dart,  a  tangle  of  tentacles,  an  embrace  of  the 
wicked  flippers,  a  bite — and  a  dead  body  floated  on. 

And  now  into  the  battle  came  a  ponderous  engine 
of  vengeance  and  defense.  A  gigantic,  lumbering, 
pulsating  creature,  white  and  translucent  but  for  the 
dark,  active  brain  showing  through  its  walls,  horrible 
in  the  slow,  implacable  deliberation  of  its  movements, 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  MONSTERS  168 

floated  down  with  the  current.  It  was  larger  than 
the  huge  red-and-gray  creatures.  It  was  formless, 
in  the  full  irony  of  the  definition — for  it  assumed  all 
forms.  It  was  long — barrel-shaped;  it  shrank  to  a 
sphere,  then  broadened  laterally,  and  again  extended 
above  and  below.  In  turn  it  was  a  sphere,  a  disk,  a 
pyramid,  a  pentahedron,  a  polyhedron.  It  possessed 
neither  legs,  flippers,  nor  tentacles ;  but  out  from  its 
heaving,  shrinking  body  it  would  send,  now  from  one 
spot,  now  from  another,  an  active  arm,  or  feeler, 
with  which  it  swam,  pulled,  or  pushed.  An  unlucky 
invader  which  one  of  them  touched  made  few  more 
voluntary  movements ;  for  instantly  the  whole  side  of 
the  whitish  mass  bristled  with  arms.  They  seized, 
crushed,  killed  it,  and  then  pushed  it  bodily  through 
the  living  walls  to  the  animal's  interior  to  serve  for 
food.  And  the  gaping  fissure  healed  at  once,  like  the 
wounds  of  Milton's  warring  angels. 

The  first  white  monster  floated  down,  killing  as 
he  went;  then  came  another,  pushing  eagerly  into 
the  fray ;  then  came  two,  then  three,  then  dozens.  It 
seemed  that  the  word  had  been  passed,  and  the  army 
of  defense  was  mustering. 

Sick  with  horror,  he  watched  the  grim  spectacle 
from  the  shelter  of  the  projection,  until  roused  to  an 
active  sense  of  danger  to  himself — but  not  from  the 
fighters.  He  was  anchored  by  his  tail,  swinging 
easily  in  the  eddy,  and  now  felt  himself  touched  from 
beneath,  again  from  above.  A  projection  down- 
atream  was  extending  outward  and  toward  him.  The 
cave  in  which  he  had  taken  refuge  was  closing  on 
him  like  a  great  mouth — as  though  directed  by  an 
intelligence  behind  the  wall.  With  a  terrified  flirt 
of  his  tail  he  flung  himself  out,  and  as  he  drifted 


164     THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  MONSTERS 

down  with  the  combat  the  walls  of  the  cave  crunched 
together.  It  was  well  for  him  that  he  was  not  there. 

The  current  was  clogged  with  fragments  of  once 
living  creatures,  and  everywhere,  darting,  dodging, 
and  biting,  were  the  fierce  black  invaders.  But  they 
paid  no  present  attention  to  him  or  to  the  small 
tentacled  animals.  They  killed  the  large,  helpless 
red-and-gray  kind,  and  were  killed  by  the  larger 
white  monsters,  each  moment  marking  the  death  and 
rending  to  fragments  of  a  victim,  and  the  horrid 
interment  of  fully  half  his  slayers.  The  tunnel  grew 
larger,  as  mouth  after  mouth  of  tributary  tunnels 
was  passed;  but  as  each  one  discharged  its  quota  of 
swimming  and  drifting  creatures,  there  was  no  thin- 
ning of  the  crowd. 

As  he  drifted  on  with  the  inharmonious  throng, 
he  noticed  what  seemed  the  objective  of  the  war. 
This  was  the  caves  which  lined  the  tunnel.  Some  were 
apparently  rigid,  others  were  mobile.  A  large  red- 
and-gray  animal  was  pushed  into  the  mouth  of  one 
of  the  latter,  and  the  walls  instantly  closed;  then 
they  opened,  and  the  creature  drifted  out,  limp  and 
colorless,  but  alive;  and  with  him  came  fragments 
of  the  wall,  broken  off  by  the  pressure.  This  hap- 
pened again  and  again,  but  the  large  creature  was 
never  quite  killed — merely  squeezed.  The  tentacled 
non-combatants  and  the  large  white  fighters  seemed 
to  know  the  danger  of  these  tunnel  mouths,  possibly 
from  bitter  experiences,  for  they  avoided  the  walls ; 
but  the  dog-faced  invaders  sought  this  death,  and 
only  fought  on  their  way  to  the  caves.  Sometimes 
two,  often  four  or  more,  would  launch  themselves 
together  into  a  hollow,  but  to  no  avail;  their  united 
strength  could  not  prevent  the  closing  in  of  the 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  MONSTERS  165 

mechanical  maw,  and  they  were  crushed  and  flung  out, 
to  drift  on  with  other  debris. 

Soon  the  walls  could  not  be  seen  for  the  pushing, 
jostling  crowd,  but  everywhere  the  terrible,  silent 
war  went  on  until  there  came  a  time  when  figkting 
ceased;  for  each  must  look  out  for  himself.  They 
seemed  to  be  in  an  immense  cave,  and  the  tide  was 
broken  into  cross-currents  rushing  violently  to  the 
accompaniment  of  rhythmical  thunder.  They  were 
shaken,  jostled,  pushed  about  and  pushed  together, 
hundreds  of  the  smaller  creatures  dying  from  the 
pressure.  Then  there  was  a  moment  of  comparative 
quiet,  during  which  fighting  was  resumed,  and  there 
could  be  seen  the  swiftly  flying  walls  of  a  large  tunnel. 
Next  they  were  rushed  through  a  labyrinth  of  small 
caves  with  walls  of  curious,  branching  formation, 
sponge-like  and  intricate.  It  required  energetic 
effort  to  prevent  being  caught  in  the  meshes,  and  the 
large  red-and-gray  creatures  were  sadly  torn  and 
crushed,  while  the  white  ones  fought  their  way 
through  by  main  strength.  Again  the  flying  walle 
of  a  tunnel,  again  a  mighty  cave,  and  the  cross- 
currents, and  the  rhythmical  thunder,  and  now  a 
wild  charge  down  an  immense  tunnel,  the  wall  of 
which  surged  outward  and  inward,  in  unison  with  the 
roaring  of  the  thunder. 

The  thunder  died  away  in  the  distance,  though 
the  walls  still  surged — even  those  of  a  smaller  tunnel 
which  divided  the  current  and  received  them.  Down- 
stream the  tunnel  branched  again  and  again,  and 
with  the  lessening  of  the  diameter  was  a  lessening 
of  the  current's  velocity,  until,  in  a  maze  of  small, 
short  passages,  the  invaders,  content  to  fight  and  kill 
in  the  swifter  tide,  again  attacked  the  caves. 


166    THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  MONSTERS 

But  to  the  never-changing  result :  they  were 
crushed,  mangled,  and  cast  out,  the  number  of  sui- 
cides, in  this  neighborhood,  largely  exceeding  those 
killed  by  the  white  warriors.  And  yet,  in  spite  of 
the  large  mortality  among  them,  the  attacking  force 
was  increasing.  Where  one  died  two  took  his  place; 
and  the  reason  was  soon  made  plain — they  were  re- 
producing. A  black  fighter,  longer  than  his  fellows, 
a  little  sluggish  of  movement,  as  though  from  the 
restrictive  pressure  of  a  large,  round  protuberance 
in  his  middle,  which  made  him  resemble  a  snake  which 
had  swallowed  an  egg,  was  caught  by  a  white  monster 
and  instantly  embraced  by  a  multitude  of  feelers. 
He  struggled,  bit,  and  broke  in  two ;  then  the  two 
parts  escaped  the  grip  of  the  astonished  captor,  and 
wriggled  away,  the  protuberance  becoming  the  head 
of  the  rear  portion,  which  immediately  joined  the 
fight,  snapping  and  biting  with  unmistakable  jaws. 
This  phenomenon  was  repeated. 

And  on  went  the  battle.  Illumined  by  the  living 
lamps,  and  watched  by  terrified  non-combatants,  the 
horrid  carnival  continued  with  never-slacking  fury 
and  ever-changing  background — past  the  mouths  of 
tributary  tunnels  which  increased  the  volume  and 
velocity  of  the  current  and  added  to  the  fighting 
strength,  on  through  widening  archways  to  a  repeti- 
tion of  the  cross-currents,  the  thunder,  and  the 
sponge-like  maze,  down  past  the  heaving  walls  of 
larger  tunnels  to  branched  passages,  where,  in  com- 
parative slack  water,  the  siege  of  the  caves  was  re- 
sumed. For  hour  after  hour  this  went  on,  the  in- 
vaders dying  by  hundreds,  but  increasing  by  thou- 
sands and  ten  thousands,  as  the  geometrical  progres- 
sion advanced,  until,  with  swimming-spaces  nearly 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  MONSTERS  167 

choked  by  their  bodies,  living  and  dead,  there  came 
the  inevitable  turn  in  the  tide  of  battle.  A  white 
monster  w^s  killed. 

Glutted  with  victims,  exhausted  and  sluggish,  he 
was  pounced  upon  by  hundreds,  hidden  from  view 
by  a  living  envelop  of  black,  which  pulsed  and 
throbbed  with  his  death-throes.  A  feeler  reached  out, 
to  be  bitten  off;  then  another,  to  no  avail.  His 
strength  was  gone,  and  the  assailants  bit  and  bur- 
rowed until  they  reached  a  vital  part,  when  the  great 
mass  assumed  a  spherical  form  and  throbbed  no 
more.  They  dropped  off,  and,  as  the  mangled  ball 
floated  on,  charged  on  the  next  enemy  with  renewed 
fury  and  courage  born  of  their  victory.  This  one 
died  as  quickly. 

And  as  though  it  had  been  foreseen,  and  a  policy 
arranged  to  meet  it,  the  white  army  no  longer  fought 
in  the  open,  but  lined  up  along  the  walls  to  defend 
the  immovable  caves.  They  avoided  the  working 
jaws  of  the  other  kind,  which  certainly  needed  no 
garrison,  and  drifting  slowly  in  the  eddies,  fought  as 
they  could,  with  decreasing  strength  and  increas- 
ing death-rate.  And  thus  it  happened  that  our 
conservative  non-combatant,  out  in  midstream, 
found  himself  surrounded  by  a  horde  of  black 
enemies  who  had  nothing  better  to  do  than  attack 
him. 

And  they  did.  As  many  as  could  crowd  about  him 
closed  their  wicked  jaws  in  his  flesh.  Squirming  with 
pain,  rendered  trebly  strong  by  his  terror,  he  killed 
them  by  twos  and  threes  as  he  could  reach  them  with 
his  tail.  He  shook  them  off  with  nervous  contortions, 
only  to  make  room  for  more.  He  plunged,  rolled, 
launched  himself  forward  and  back,  up  and  down, 


168     THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  MONSTERS 

out  and  in,  bending  himself  nearly  double,  then  with 
lightning  rapidity  throwing  himself  far  into  the  re- 
verse curve.  He  was  fighting  for  his  life,  and  knew 
it.  When  he  could,  he  used  his  jaws,  only  once  to 
an  enemy.  He  saw  dimly  at  intervals  that  the  white 
monsters  were  watching  him ;  but  none  offered  to 
help,  and  he  had  not  time  to  call. 

He  thought  that  he  must  have  become  the  object 
of  the  war;  for  from  all  sides  they  swarmed,  crowd- 
ing about  him,  seeking  a  place  on  which  to  fasten 
their  jaws.  Little  by  little  the  large  red-and-gray 
creatures,  the  non-combatants,  and  the  phosphores- 
cent animals  were  pushed  aside,  and  he,  the  center 
of  an  almost  solid  black  mass,  fought,  in  utter  dark- 
ness, with  the  fury  of  extreme  fright.  He  had  no 
appreciation  of  the  passing  of  time,  no  knowledge 
of  his  distance  from  the  wall,  or  the  destination  of 
this  never-pausing  current.  But  finally,  after  an  ap- 
parently interminable  period,  he  heard  dimly,  with 
failing  consciousness,  the  reverberations  of  the  thun- 
der, and  knew  momentary  respite  as  the  violent  cross- 
currents tore  his  assailants  away.  Then,  still  in 
darkness,  he  felt  the  crashing  and  tearing  of  flesh 
against  obstructing  walls  and  sharp  corners,  the 
repetition  of  thunder  and  the  roar  of  the  current 
which  told  him  he  was  once  more  in  a  large  tunnel. 
An  instant  of  light  from  a  venturesome  torch  showed 
him  to  his  enemies,  and  again  he  fought,  like  a  whale 
in  his  last  flurry,  slowly  dying  from  exhaustion  and 
pain,  but  still  potential  to  kill — terrible  in  his  agony. 
There  was  no  counting  of  scalps  in  that  day's  work; 
but  perhaps  no  devouring  white  monster  in  all  the 
defensive  army  could  have  shown  a  death-list  equal 
to  this.  From  the  surging  black  cloud  there  was  a 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  MONSTERS     169 

steady  outflow  of  the  dead,  pushed  back  by  the 
living. 

Weaker  and  weaker,  while  they  mangled  his  flesh, 
and  still  in  darkness,  he  fought  them  down  through 
branching  passages  to  another  network  of  small 
tunnels,  where  he  caught  a  momentary  view  of  the 
walls  and  the  stolid  white  guard,  thence  on  to  what 
he  knew  was  open  space.  And  here  he  felt  that  he 
could  fight  no  more.  They  had  covered  him  com- 
pletely, and  try  as  he  might  with  his  failing  strength, 
he  could  not  dislodge  them.  So  he  ceased  his  strug- 
gles ;  and  numb  with  pain,  dazed  with  despair,  he 
awaited  the  end. 

But  it  did  not  come.  He  was  too  exhausted  to 
feel  surprise  or  joy  when  they  suddenly  dropped  away 
from  him;  but  the  instinct  of  self-preservation  was 
still  in  force,  and  he  swam  toward  the  wall.  The 
small  creatures  paid  him  no  attention ;  they  scurried 
this  way  and  that,  busy  with  troubles  of  their  own, 
while  he  crept  stupidly  and  painfully  between  two 
white  sentries  floating  in  the  eddies, — one  of  whom 
considerately  made  room  for  him, — and  anchored  to 
a  projection,  luckily  choosing  a  harbor  that  was  not 
hostile. 

"  Any  port  in  a  storm,  eh,  neighbor  ?  "  said  the 
one  who  had  given  him  room,  and  who  seemed  to 
notice  his  dazed  condition.  "  You'll  feel  better  soon. 
My,  but  you  put  up  a  good  fight,  that's  what  you 
did!" 

He  could  not  answer,  and  the  friendly  guard  re- 
sumed his  vigil.  In  a  few  moments,  however,  he  could 
take  cognizance  of  what  was  going  on  in  the  stream. 
There  was  a  new  army  in  the  fight,  and  reinforcements 
were  still  coming.  A  short  distance  above  him  was 


170    THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  MONSTERS 

a  huge  rent  in  the  wall,  and  the  caves  around  it, 
crushed  and  distorted,  were  grinding  fiercely.  Pro- 
truding through  the  rent  and  extending  half-way 
across  the  tunnel  was  a  huge  mass  of  some  strange 
substance,  roughly  shaped  to  a  cylindrical  form.  It 
was  hollow,  and  out  of  it,  by  thousands  and  hundred 
thousands,  was  pouring  the  auxiliary  army,  from 
which  the  black  fighters  were  now  fleeing  for  dear 
life. 

The  newcomers,  though  resembling  in  general 
form  the  creatures  they  pursued,  were  much  larger 
and  of  two  distinct  types.  Both  were  light  brown 
in  color;  but  while  one  showed  huge  development  of 
head  and  jaw,  with  small  flippers,  the  other  kind  re- 
versed these  attributes,  their  heads  being  small,  but 
their  flippers  long  and  powerful.  They  ran  their 
quarry  down  in  the  open,  and  seized  them  with  out- 
reaching  tentacles.  No  mistakes  were  made — no 
feints  or  false  motions ;  and  there  was  no  resistance 
by  the  victims.  Where  one  was  noticed  he  was 
doomed.  The  tentacles  gathered  him  in — to  a  mur- 
derous bite  or  a  murderous  embrace. 

At  last,  when  the  inflow  had  ceased, — when  there 
must  have  been  millions  of  the  brown  killers  in  the 
tunnel, — the  great  hollow  cylinder  turned  slowly  on 
its  axis  and  backed  out  through  the  rent  in  the  wall, 
which  immediately  closed,  with  a  crushing  and  scat- 
tering of  fragments.  Though  the  allies  were  far 
down-stream  now,  the  war  was  practically  ended ;  for 
the  white  defenders  remained  near  the  walls,  and 
the  black  invaders  were  in  wildest  panic,  each  one, 
as  the  resistless  current  rushed  him  past,  swimming 
against  the  stream,  to  put  distance  between  himself 
and  the  destroyer  below.  But  before  long  an  ad- 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  MONSTERS     171 

vance-guard  of  the  brown  enemy  shot  out  from  the 
tributaries  above,  and  the  tide  of  retreat  swung  back- 
ward. Then  came  thousands  of  them,  and  the  mas- 
sacre was  resumed. 

"Hot  stuff,  eh?"  said  the  friendly  neighbor  to 
him. 

"  Y-y-y-es — I  guess  so,"  he  answered,  rather  va- 
cantly ;  "  I  don't  know.  I  don't  know  anything  about 
it.  I  never  saw  such  doings.  What  is  it  all  for? 
What  does  it  mean?" 

"  Oh,  this  is  nothing;  it's  all  in  a  lifetime.  Still, 
I  admit  it  might  ha'  been  serious  for  us — and  you, 
too — if  we  hadn't  got  help." 

"  But  who  are  they,  and  what?  They  all  seem  of 
a  family,  and  are  killing  each  other." 

"  Immortal  shade  of  Darwin ! "  exclaimed  the 
other  sentry,  who  had  not  spoken  before.  "  Where 
were  you  brought  up?  Don't  you  know  that  varia- 
tions from  type  are  the  deadliest  enemies  of  the 
parent  stock?  These  two  brown  breeds  are  the  hun- 
dredth or  two-hundredth  cousins  of  the  black  kind. 
When  they've  killed  off  their  common  relative,  and 
get  to  competing  for  grub,  they'll  exterminate  each 
other,  and  we'll  be  rid  of  'em  all.  Law  of  nature. 
Understand?" 

"  Oh,  y-yes,  I  understand,  of  course ;  but  what  did 
the  black  kind  attack  me  for?  And  what  do  they 
want,  anyway?  " 

"  To  follow  out  their  destiny,  I  s'pose.  They're 
the  kind  of  folks  who  have  missions.  Reformers,  we 
call  'em — who  want  to  enforce  their  peculiar  ideas 
and  habits  on  other  people.  Sometimes  we  call  them 
expansionists — fond  of  colonizing  territory  that 
doesn't  belong  to  them.  They  wanted  to  get  through 


173  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  MONSTERS 

the  cells  to  the  lymph-passages,  thence  on  to  the 
brain  and  spinal  marrow.  Know  what  that  means? 
Hydrophobia." 

"What's  that?" 

"  Oh,  say,  now !    You're  too  easy." 

"  Come,  come,"  said  the  other,  good-naturedly ; 
"  don't  guy  him.  He  never  had  our  advantages. 
You  see,  neighbor,  we  get  these  points  from  the  sub- 
jective brain,  which  knows  all  things  and  gives  us 
our  instructions.  We're  the  white  corpuscles — 
phagocytes,  the  scientists  call  us, — and  our  work  is 
to  police  the  blood-vessels,  and  kill  off  invaders  that 
make  trouble.  Those  red-and-gray  chumps  can't 
take  care  of  themselves,  and  we  must  protect  'em. 
Understand?  But  this  invasion  was  too  much  for 
us,  and  we  had  to  have  help  from  outside.  You 
must  have  come  in  with  the  first  crowd — think  I  saw 
you — in  at  the  bite.  Second  crowd  came  in  through 
an  inoculation  tube,  and  just  in  time  to  pull  you 
through." 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  our  bewildered  friend. 
'*  In  at  the  bite  ?  What  bite  ?  I  was  swimming 
round  comfortable-like,  and  there  was  a  big  noise, 
and  then  I  was  alongside  of  a  big  white  wall,  and 
then—" 

"  Exactly ;  the  dog's  tooth.  You  got  into  bad 
company,  friend,  and  you're  well  out  of  it.  That 
first  gang  is  the  microbe  of  rabies,  not  very  well 
known  yet,  because  a  little  too  small  to  be  seen  by 
most  microscopes.  All  the  scientists  seem  to  have 
learned  about  'em  is  that  a  colony  of  a  few  hundred 
generations  old — which  they  call  a  culture,  or  serum 
— is  death  on  the  original  bird ;  and  that's  what  they 
sent  in  to  help  out.  Pasteur's  dead,  worse  luck,  but 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  MONSTERS  173 

sometime  old  Koch'll  find  out  what  we've  known  all 
along — that  it's  only  variation  from  type." 

"  Koch ! "  he  answered,  eagerly  and  proudly. 
"  Oh,  I  know  Koch ;  I've  met  him.  And  I  know 
about  microscopes,  too.  Why,  Koch  had  me  under 
his  microscope  once.  He  discovered  my  family,  and 
named  us — the  comma  bacilli — the  Spirilli  of  Asiatic 
Cholera." 

In  silent  horror  they  drew  away  from  him,  and 
then  conversed  together.  Other  white  warriors 
drifting  along  stopped  and  joined  the  conference, 
and  when  a  hundred  or  more  were  massed  before  him, 
they  spread  out  to  a  semi-spherical  formation  and 
closed  in. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  asked,  nervously. 
"What's  wrong?  What  are  you  going  to  do?  I 
haven't  done  anything,  have  I  ?  " 

"  It's  not  what  you've  done,  stranger,"  said  his 
quondam  friend,  "  or  what  we're  going  to  do.  It's 
what  you're  going  to  do.  You're  going  to  die. 
Don't  see  how  you  got  past  quarantine,  anyhow." 

"What— why— I  don't  want  to  die.  I've  done 
nothing.  All  I  want  is  peace  and  quiet,  and  a  place 
to  swim  where  it  isn't  too  light  nor  too  dark.  I 
mind  my  own  affairs.  Let  me  alone — you  hear  me — 
let  me  alone !  " 

They  answered  him  not.  Slowly  and  irresistibly 
the  hollow  formation  contracted — individuals  slip- 
ping out  when  necessary — until  he  was  pushed,  still 
protesting,  into  the  nearest  movable  cave.  The  walls 
crashed  together  and  his  life  went  out.  When  he 
was  cast  forth  he  was  in  five  pieces. 

And  so  our  gentle,  conservative,  non-combative 
cholera  microbe,  who  only  wanted  to  be  left  alone  to 


174.  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  MONSTERS 

mind  his  own  affairs,  met  this  violent  death,  a  martyr 
to  prejudice  and  an  unsympathetic  environment. 

Extract  from  hospital  record  of  the  case  of  John 
Anderson : 

August  18.  As  period  of  incubation  for  both  cholera  and 
hydrophobia  has  passed  and  no  initial  symptoms  of  either 
disease  have  been  noticed,  patient  is  this  day  discharged,  cured. 


FROM  THE  ROYAL- YARD  DOWN 

A 5  night  descended,  cold  and  damp,  the  wind 
hauled,  and  by  nine  o'clock  the  ship  was  charg- 
ing along  before  a  half-gale  and  a  rising  sea  from 
the  port  quarter.  When  the  watch  had  braced  the 
yards,  the  mate  ordered  the  spanker  brailed  in  and 
the  mizzen-royal  clued  up,  as  the  ship  steered  hard. 
This  was  done,  and  the  men  coiled  up  the  gear. 

"  Let  the  spanker  hang  in  the  brails ;  tie  up  the 
royal,"  ordered  the  mate  from  his  position  at  the 
break  of  the  poop. 

"  Aye,  aye,  sir,"  answered  a  voice  from  the  group, 
and  an  active  figure  sprang  into  the  rigging.  An- 
other figure — slim  and  graceful,  clad  in  long,  yellow 
oilskin  coat,  and  a  sou'- wester  which  could  not  con- 
fine a  tangled  fringe  of  wind-blown  hair — left  the 
shelter  of  the  after-companionway  and  sped  along 
the  alley  to  the  mate's  side. 

"  The  foot-rope,  Mr.  Adams,"  she  said,  hurriedly. 
"  The  seizing  was  chafed,  you  remember." 

"By  George,  Miss  Freda!"  said  the  officer. 
"  Forgot  all  about  it.  Glad  you  spoke.  Come  down 
from  aloft,"  he  added,  in  a  roar. 

The  sailor  answered  and  descended. 

"  Get  a  piece  of  spun  yarn  out  o'  the  booby-hatch 
and  take  it  up  wi'  you,"  continued  the  mate.  "  Pass 
a  temporary  seizing  on  the  lee  royal  foot-rope. 
Make  sure  it's  all  right  'fore  you  get  on  it,  now." 

"Aye,  aye,  sir." 

The  man  passed  down  the  poop  steps,  secured  the 
175 


176     FROM  THE  ROYAL-YARD  DOWN 

spun  yarn,  and  while  rolling  it  into  a  ball  to  put 
in  his  pocket,  stood  for  a  moment  in  the  light  shining 
from  the  second  mate's  room.  The  girl  on  the  poop 
looked  down  at  him.  He  was  a  trim-built,  well- 
favored  young  fellow,  with  more  refinement  in  his 
face  than  most  sailors  can  show;  yet  there  was  no 
lack  of  seamanly  deftness  in  the  fingers  which  balled 
up  the  spun  yarn  and  threw  a  half-hitch  with  the 
bight  of  the  lanyard  over  the  point  of  the  marline- 
spike  which  hung  to  his  neck.  As  he  climbed  the 
steps,  the  girl  faced  him,  looking  squarely  into  his 
eyes. 

"  Be  careful,  John— Mr.  Owen,"  she  said.  "  The 
seizing  is  chafed  through.  I  heard  the  man  report 
it — it  was  Dutch  George  of  the  other  watch.  Do  be 
careful." 

"  Er,  why — why,  yes,  Miss  Folsom.  Thank  you. 
But  you  startled  me.  I've  been  Jack  for  three  years 
— not  John,  nor  Mister.  Yes,  it's  all  right ;  I — " 

"  Get  aloft  to  that  mizzenroyal,"  thundered  the 
mate,  now  near  the  wheel. 

"  Aye,  aye,  sir."  He  touched  hie  sou'-wester  to 
the  girl  and  mounted  the  weather  mizzen-rigging, 
running  up  the  ratlines  as  a  fireman  goes  up  a  ladder. 
It  was  a  black  night  with  cold  rain,  and  having 
thrown  off  his  oiled  jacket,  he  was  already  drenched 
to  the  skin;  but  no  environment  of  sunshine,  green 
fields  and  woodland,  and  flower-scented  air  ever 
made  life  brighter  to  him  than  had  the  incident  of 
the  last  few  moments ;  and  with  every  nerve  in  his 
body  rejoicing  in  his  victory,  and  her  bitter  words 
of  four  years  back  crowding  his  mind  as  a  con- 
trasting background,  he  danced  up  and  over  the 
futtock-shrouds,  up  the  topmast-rigging,  through 


FROM  THE  ROYAL-YARD  DOWN     177 

the  crosstrees,  and  up  the  topgallant-rigging  to  where 
the  ratlines  ended  and  he  must  climb  on  the  runner 
of  the  royal-halyards.  As  the  yard  was  lowered, 
this  was  a  short  climb,  and  he  swung  himself  upward 
to  the  weather  yard-arm,  where  he  rolled  up  one  side 
of  the  sail  with  extravagant  waste  of  muscular 
effort;  for  she  had  said  he  was  not  a  man,  and  he 
had  proved  her  wrong:  he  had  conquered  himself, 
and  he  had  conquered  her. 

He  hitched  the  gasket,  and  crossed  over  to  the 
lee  side,  forgetting,  in  his  exhilaration,  the  object  of 
the  spun  yarn  in  his  pocket  and  the  marlinespike 
hung  from  his  neck,  stepped  out  on  the  foot-rope, 
passed  his  hands  along  the  jack-stay  to  pull  himself 
farther,  and  felt  the  foot-rope  sink  to  the  sound  of 
snapping  strands.  The  jack-stay  was  torn  from 
his  grasp,  and  he  fell,  face  downward,  into  the  black 
void  beneath. 

An  involuntary  shriek  began  on  his  lips,  but  was 
not  finished.  He  felt  that  the  last  atom  of  air  was 
jarred  from  his  lungs  by  what  he  knew  was  the 
topgallant-yard,  four  feet  below  the  royal;  and,  un- 
able to  hold  on,  with  a  freezing  cold  in  his  veins  and 
at  the  hair-roots,  he  experienced  in  its  fullness  the 
terrible  sensation  of  falling, — whirling  downward, — 
clutching  wildly  at  vacancy  with  stiffened  fingers. 

The  first  horror  past,  his  mind  took  on  a  strange 
contemplativeness ;  fear  of  death  gave  way  to  mild 
curiosity  as  to  the  manner  of  it.  Would  he  strike 
on  the  lee  quarter,  or  would  he  go  overboard?  And 
might  he  not  catch  something?  There  was  rigging 
below  him — the  lee  royal-backstay  stretched  farthest 
out  from  the  mast,  and  if  he  brushed  it,  there  was  a 
possible  chance.  He  was  now  face  upward,  and  with 


178     FROM  THE  ROYAL- YARD  DOWN 

the  utmost  difficulty  moved  his  eyes, — he  could  not  yet, 
by  any  exercise  of  will  or  muscle,  move  his  head, — 
and  there,  almost  within  reach,  was  a  dark  line,  which 
he  knew  was  the  royal-backstay;  farther  in  toward 
the  spars  was  another — the  topgallant-backstay ;  and 
within  this,  two  other  ropes  which  he  knew  for  the 
topgallant-rigging,  though  he  could  see  no  ratlines, 
nor  could  he  distinguish  the  lay  of  the  strands ;  the 
ropes  appeared  like  solid  bars.  This,  with  the  fact 
that  he  was  still  but  a  few  feet  below  the  topgallant- 
yard,  surprised  him,  until  it  came  to  him  that  falling 
bodies  travel  over  sixteen  feet  in  the  first  second  of 
descent,  which  is  at  a  rate  too  fast  for  distinct  vision, 
and  that  the  apparent  slowness  of  his  falling  was  but 
relative — because  of  the  quickness  of  his  mind,  which 
could  not  wait  on  a  sluggish  optic  nerve  and  more 
sluggish  retina. 

Yet  he  wondered  why  he  could  not  reach  out  and 
grasp  the  backstay.  It  seemed  as  though  invisible 
fetters  bound  every  muscle  and  joint,  though  not 
completely.  An  intense  effort  of  will  resulted  in  the 
slow  extension  of  all  the  fingers  of  his  right  hand,  and 
a  little  straightening  of  the  arm  toward  the  back- 
stay; but  not  until  he  had  fallen  to  the  level  of  "the 
upper  topsail-yard  was  this  result  reached.  It  did 
no  good ;  the  backstay  was  now  farther  away.  As  it 
led  in  a  straight  line  from  the  royal-masthead  to  the 
rail,  this  meant  that  he  would  fall  overboard,  and 
the  thought  comforted  him.  The  concussion  would 
kill  him,  of  course ;  but  no  self-pity  afflicted  him  now. 
He  merely  considered  that  she,  who  had  relented, 
would  be  spared  the  sight  of  him  crushed  to  a  pulp 
on  the  deck. 

As  he  drifted  slowly  down  past  the  expanse  of 


FROM  THE  ROYAL- YARD  DOWN     179 

upper  topsail,  he  noticed  that  his  head  was  sinking 
and  his  body  turning  so  that  he  would  ultimately 
face  forward;  but  still  his  arms  and  legs  held  their 
extended  position,  like  those  of  a  speared  frog,  and 
the  thought  recalled  to  him  an  incident  of  his  in- 
fancy— a  frog-hunt  with  an  older  playmate,  his 
prowess,  success,  wet  feet,  and  consequent  illness. 
It  had  been  forgotten  for  years,  but  the  chain  was 
started,  and  led  to  other  memories,  long  dead,  which 
rose  before  him.  His  childhood  passed  in  review, 
with  its  pleasures  and  griefs ;  his  school-days,  with 
their  sports,  conflicts,  friends  and  enemies ;  college, 
where  he  had  acquired  the  polish  to  make  him  petted 
of  all  but  one — and  abhorrent  to  her.  Almost  every 
person,  man  or  woman,  boy  or  girl,  with  whom  he 
had  conversed  in  his  whole  life,  came  back  and  re- 
peated the  scene ;  and  as  he  passed  the  lower  topsail- 
yard,  nearly  head  downward,  he  was  muttering  com- 
monplaces to  a  brown-faced,  gray-eyed  girl,  who  lis- 
tened, and  looked  him  through  and  through,  and 
seemed  to  be  wondering  why  he  existed. 

And  as  he  traversed  the  depth  of  the  lower  topsail, 
turning  gradually  on  his  axis,  he  lived  it  over — next 
to  his  first  voyage,  the  most  harrowing  period  of  his 
life:  the  short  two  months  during  which  he  had 
striven  vainly  to  impress  this  simple-natured  sailor- 
girl  with  his  good  qualities,  ending  at  last  with  his 
frantic  declaration  of  a  love  that  she  did  not  want. 

"  But  it's  not  the  least  use,  John,"  she  said  to  him. 
"  I  do  not  love  you,  and  I  cannot.  You  are  a  gen- 
tleman, as  they  say,  and  as  such  I  like  you  well 
enough ;  but  I  never  can  love  you,  nor  any  one  like 
you.  I've  been  among  men,  real  men,  all  my  life, 
and  perhaps  have  ideals  that  are  strange  to  you. 


180     FROM  THE  ROYAL-YARD  DOWN 

John," — her  eyes  were  wide  open  in  earnestness, — 
"  you  are  not  a  man." 

Writhing  under  her  words,  which  would  have  been 
brutal  spoken  by  another,  he  cursed,  not  her,  nor 
himself,  but  his  luck  and  the  fates  that  had  shaped 
his  life.  And  next  she  was  showing  him  the  opened 
door,  saying  that  she  could  tolerate  profanity  in 
a  man,  but  not  in  a  gentleman,  and  that  under  no 
circumstances  was  he  to  claim  her  acquaintance 
again.  Then  followed  the  snubbing  in  the  street, 
when,  like  a  lately  whipped  dog,  he  had  placed  him- 
self in  her  way,  hoping  she  would  notice  him;  and 
the  long  agony  of  humiliation  and  despair  as  his 
heart  and  soul  followed  her  over  the  seas  in  her 
father's  ship,  until  the  seed  she  had  planted — the 
small  suspicion  that  her  words  were  true — developed 
into  a  wholesome  conviction  that  she  had  measured 
him  by  a  higher  standard  than  any  he  had  known, 
and  found  him  wanting.  So  he  would  go  to  her 
school,  and  learn  what  she  knew. 

With  lightning-like  rapidity  his  mind  rehearsed  the 
details  of  his  tuition:  the  four  long  voyages;  the 
brutality  of  the  officers  until  he  had  learned  his  work ; 
their  consideration  and  rough  kindness  when  he  had 
become  useful  and  valuable;  the  curious,  incongru- 
ous feeling  of  self-respect  that  none  but  able  seamen 
feel;  the  growth  in  him  of  an  aggressive  physical 
courage;  the  triumphant  satisfaction  with  which  he 
finally  knew  himself  as  a  complete  man,  clean  in 
morals  and  mind,  able  to  look  men  in  the  face.  And 
then  came  the  moment  when,  mustering  at  the  capstan 
with  the  new  crew  of  her  father's  ship,  he  had  met 
her  surprised  eyes  with  a  steady  glance,  and  received 
no  recognition. 


FROM  THE  ROYAL- YARD  DOWN     181 

And  so  he  pleaded  his  cause,  dumbly,  by  the  life 
that  he  lived.  Asking  nothing  by  word  or  look,  he 
proved  himself  under  her  eyes — first  on  deck;  first 
in  the  rigging;  the  best  man  at  a  weather-earing; 
the  best  at  the  wheel;  quick,  obedient,  intelligent, 
and  respectful,  winning  the  admiration  of  his  mates, 
the  jealous  ill  will  of  the  officers,  but  no  sign  of 
interest  or  approval  from  her  until  to-night — the 
ninety-second  day  of  the  passage.  She  had  surren- 
dered; he  had  reached  her  level,  only  to  die;  and  he 
thought  this  strange. 

Facing  downward,  head  inboard  now,  and  nearly 
horizontal,  he  was  passing  the  cross-jack  yard.  Be- 
low him  was  the  sea — black  and  crisp — motionless  as 
though  carved  in  ebony.  Neither  was  there  movement 
of  the  ship  and  its  rigging;  the  hanging  bights  of 
ropes  were  rigid,  while  a  breaking  sea  just  abaft  the 
main  chains  remained  poised,  curled,  its  white  crest 
a  frozen  pillow  of  foam.  "  The  rapidity  of  thought," 
he  mused,  dreamily ;  "  but  I'm  falling  fast  enough — 
fast  enough  to  kill  me  when  I  strike." 

He  could  not  move  an  eyelid  now,  nor  was  he  con- 
scious that  he  breathed;  but,  being  nearly  upright, 
facing  aft  and  inboard,  the  quarter-deck  and  its 
fittings  were  before  his  eyes,  and  he  saw  what  brought 
him  out  of  eternity  to  a  moment  of  finite  time  and 
emotion.  The  helmsman  stood  at  the  motionless 
wheel  with  his  right  hand  poised  six  inches  above  a 
spoke,  as  though  some  sudden  paralysis  gripped  him, 
and  his  face,  illumined  by  the  binnacle  light,  turned 
aloft  inquiringly.  But  it  was  not  this.  Standing 
at  the  taffrail,  one  hand  on  a  life-buoy,  was  a  girl 
in  yellow  looking  at  him, — unspeakable  horror  in  the 
look, — and  around  her  waist  the  arm  of  the  mate, 


182     FROM  THE  ROYAL-YARD  DOWN 

on  whose  rather  handsome  face  was  an  evil 
grin. 

A  pang  of  earthly  rage  and  jealousy  shot  through 
him,  and  he  wished  to  live.  By  a  supreme  effort  of 
will  he  brought  his  legs  close  together  and  his  arms 
straight  above  his  head;  then  the  picture  before  him 
shot  upward,  and  he  was  immersed  in  cold  salt  water, 
with  blackness  all  about  him.  How  long  he  remained 
under  he  could  not  guess.  He  had  struck  feet  first 
and  suffered  no  harm,  but  had  gone  down  like  a 
deep-sea  lead.  He  felt  the  aching  sensation  in  his 
lungs  coming  from  suppressed  breathing,  and  swam 
blindly  in  the  darkness,  not  knowing  in  which  direc- 
tion was  the  surface,  until  he  felt  the  marlinespike — 
still  fastened  to  his  neck — extending  off  to  the  right. 
Sure  that  it  must  hang  downward,  he  turned  the 
other  way,  and,  keeping  it  parallel  with  his  body, 
swam  with  bursting  lungs  until  he  felt  air  upon  his 
face  and  knew  that  he  could  breathe.  In  choking 
sobs  and  gasps  his  breath  came  and  went,  while  he 
paddled  with  hands  and  feet,  glad  of  his  reprieve; 
and  when  his  lungs  worked  normally,  he  struck  out 
for  a  white,  circular  life-buoy,  not  six  feet  away. 
"Bless  her  for  this,"  he  prayed,  as  he  slipped  it 
under  his  arms.  His  oilskin  trousers  were  cumber- 
some, and  with  a  little  trouble  he  shed  them. 

He  was  alive,  and  his  world  was  again  in  motion. 
Seas  lifted  and  dropped  him,  occasionally  breaking 
over  his  head.  In  the  calm  of  the  hollows,  he  lis- 
tened for  voices  of  possible  rescuers.  On  the  tops 
of  the  seas, — ears  filled  with  the  roar  of  the  gale, — he 
shouted,  facing  to  leeward,  and  searching  with 
strained  eyes  for  sign  of  the  ship  or  one  of  her  boats. 
At  last  he  saw  a  pin-point  of  light  far  away,  and 


FROM  THE  ROYAL-YARD  DOWN      183 

around  it  and  above  it  blacker  darkness,  which  was 
faintly  shaped  to  the  outline  of  a  ship  and  canvas — 
hove  to  in  the  trough,  with  maintopsail  aback,  as 
he  knew  by  its  fore-shortening.  And  even  as  he 
looked  and  shouted  it  faded  away.  He  screamed 
and  cursed,  for  he  wanted  to  live.  He  had  survived 
that  terrible  fall,  and  it  was  his  right. 

Something  white  showed  on  the  top  of  a  sea  to 
leeward  and  sank  in  a  hollow.  He  sank  with  it, 
and  when  he  rose  again  it  was  nearer. 

"  Boat  ahoy !  "  he  sang  out.  "  Boat  ahoy ! — this 
way — port  a  little — steady." 

He  swam  as  he  could,  cumbered  by  the  life-buoy, 
and  with  every  heaving  sea  the  boat  came  nearer. 
At  last  he  recognized  it — the  ship's  dinghy;  and  it 
was  being  pulled  into  the  teeth  of  that  forceful  wind 
and  sea  by  a  single  rower — a  slight  figure  in  yellow. 

"  It's  Freda,"  he  exclaimed;  and  then,  in  a  shout: 
"  This  way,  Miss  Folsom— a  little  farther." 

She  turned,  nodded,  and  pulled  the  boat  up  to 
him.  He  seized  the  gunwale,  and  she  took  in  the 
oars. 

"  Can  you  climb  in  alone,  John  ?  "  she  asked  in 
an  even  voice — as  even  as  though  she  were  asking 
him  to  have  more  tea.  "  Wait  a  little, — I  am  tired, 
— and  I  will  help  you." 

She  was  ever  calm  and  dispassionate,  but  he  won- 
dered at  her  now;  yet  he  would  not  be  outdone. 

"  I'll  climb  over  the  stern,  Freda,  so  as  not  to 
capsize  you.  Better  go  forward  to  balance  my 
weight." 

She  did  so.  He  pulled  himself  to  the  stern,  slipped 
the  life-buoy  over  his  head  and  into  the  boat,  then, 
by  a  mighty  exercise  of  all  his  strength,  vaulted 


184     FROM  THE  ROYAL- YARD  DOWN 

aboard  with  seeming  ease  and  sat  down  on  a  thwart. 
He  felt  a  strong  inclination  to  laughter  and  tears, 
but  repressed  himself;  for  masculine  hysterics  would 
not  do  before  this  young  woman.  She  came  aft  to 
the  next  thwart,  and  when  he  felt  steadier  he  said : 

• "  You  have  saved  my  life,  Freda ;  but  thanks  are 
idle  now,  for  your  own  is  in  danger.  Give  me  the 
oars.  We  must  get  back  to  the  ship." 

She  changed  places  with  him,  facing  forward,  and 
said,  wearily,  as  he  shipped  the  oars :  "  So  you  want 
to  get  back?" 

"  Why,  yes ;  don't  you  ?  We  are  adrift  in  an 
open  boat." 

"  The  wind  is  going  down,  and  the  seas  do  not 
break,"  she  answered,  in  the  same  weary  voice.  "  It 
does  not  rain  any  more,  and  we  will  have  the 
moon." 

A  glance  around  told  him  that  she  spoke  truly. 
There  was  less  pressure  to  the  wind,  and  the  seas 
rose  and  fell,  sweeping  past  them  like  moving  hills 
of  oil.  Moonlight  shining  through  thinning  clouds 
faintly  illumined  her  face,  and  he  saw  the  expres- 
sionless weariness  of  her  voice,  and  a  sad,  dreamy 
look  in  her  gray  eyes. 

"  How  did  you  get  the  dinghy  down,  Freda  ?  "  he 
asked.  "  And  why  did  no  one  come  with  you?  " 

"  Father  was  asleep,  and  the  mate  was  incompe- 
tent. I  had  my  revolver,  and  they  backed  the  yards 
for  me  and  threw  the  dinghy  over.  I  had  loosened 
the  gripes  as  you  went  aloft.  I  thought  you  would 
fall.  Still — no  one  would  come." 

"  And  you  came  alone,"  he  said  in  a  broken  voice, 
"  and  pulled  this  boat  to  windward  in  this  sea.  You 
are  a  wonder." 


FROM  THE  ROYAL-YARD  DOWN     186 

"  I  saw  you  catch  the  life-buoy.  Why  did  you 
fall?  You  were  cautioned.'* 

"  I  forgot  the  foot-rope.     I  was  thinking  of  you." 

"  You  are  like  the  mate.  He  forgot  the  foot-rope 
all  day  because  he  was  thinking  of  me.  I  should 
have  gone  aloft  and  seized  it  myself." 

There  was  no  reproof  or  sarcasm  in  the  tired 
voice.  She  had  simply  made  an  assertion. 

"  Why  are  you  at  sea,  before  the  mast — a  man  of 
your  talents  ?  " 

It  was  foolish,  he  knew ;  but  the  word  "  man  "  sent 
a  thrill  through  him. 

"  To  please  you  if  I  may ;  to  cultivate  what  you 
did  not  find  in  me." 

"  Yes,  I  knew ;  when  you  came  on  board  I  knew 
it.  But  you  might  have  spoken  to  me." 

There  was  petulance  in  the  tone  now,  and  the  soul 
of  the  man  rejoiced.  The  woman  in  her  was  assert- 
ing itself. 

"  Miss  Folsom,"  he  answered  warmly,  "  I  could 
not.  You  had  made  it  impossible.  It  was  your 
right,  your  duty,  if  you  wished  it.  But  you  ignored 
my  existence." 

"  I  was  testing  you.     I  am  glad  now,  Mr.  Owen." 

The  petulance  was  gone,  but  there  was  something 
chilling  in  this  answer. 

"Can  you  see  the  ship?"  he  asked  after  a  mo- 
ment's silence.  "  The  moonlight  is  stronger." 

"  We  will  not  reach  her.  They  have  squared 
away.  The  mate  had  the  deck,  and  father  is  asleep." 

"  And  left  you  in  an  open  boat,"  he  answered 
angrily. 

"  He  knew  I  was  with  you." 

What  was   irrelevant  in  this  explanation  of  the 


186     FROM  THE  ROYAL- YARD  DOWN 

mate's  conduct  escaped  him  at  the  time.  The  full 
moon  had  emerged  from  behind  the  racing  clouds, 
and  it  brightened  her  face,  fringed  by  the  tangled 
hair  and  yellow  sou'-wester,  to  an  unearthly  beauty 
that  he  had  never  seen  before.  He  wondered  at  it, 
and  for  a  moment  a  grisly  thought  crossed  his  mind 
that  this  was  not  life,  but  death;  that  he  had  died 
in  the  fall,  and  in  some  manner  the  girl  had  followed. 

She  was  standing  erect,  her  lithe  figure  swaying 
to  the  boat's  motion,  and  pointing  to  leeward,  while 
the  moonlit  face  was  now  sweetened  by  the  smile  of 
a  happy  child.  He  stood  up,  and  looked  where  she 
pointed,  but  saw  nothing,  and  seated  himself  to  look 
at  her. 

"See!"  she  exclaimed  gleefully.  "They  have 
hauled  out  the  spanker  and  are  sheeting  home  the 
royal.  I  will  never  be  married !  I  will  never  be  mar- 
ried !  He  knew  I  was  with  you." 

Again  he  stood  up  and  searched  the  sea  to  lee- 
ward. There  was  nothing  in  sight. 

"  Unhinged,"  he  thought,  "  by  this  night's  trouble. 
Freda,"  he  said  gently,  "  please  sit  down.  You  may 
fall  overboard." 

"  I  am  not  insane,"  she  said,  as  though  reading 
his  thought;  and,  smiling  radiantly  in  his  face,  she 
obeyed  him. 

"Do  you  know  where  we  are?"  he  asked  tenta- 
tively. "  Are  we  in  the  track  of  ships  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  answered,  while  her  face  took  on  the 
dreamy  look  again.  "  We  are  out  of  all  the  tracks. 
We  will  not  be  picked  up.  We  are  due  west  from 
Dio  Island.  I  saw  it  at  sundown  broad  on  the  star- 
board bow.  The  wind  is  due  south.  If  you  will 
pull  in  the  trough  of  the  sea  we  can  reach  it  before 


FROM  THE  ROYAL- YARD  DOWN     187 

daylight.     I  am  tired — so  tired — and  sleepy.     Will 
you  watch  out?  " 

"Why,  certainly.  Lie  down  in  the  stem-sheets 
and  sleep  if  you  can." 

She  curled  up  in  her  yellow  oil-coat  and  slum- 
bered through  the  night,  while  he  pulled  easily  on 
the  oars — not  that  he  had  full  faith  in  her  naviga- 
tion, but  to  keep  himself  warm.  The  sea  became 
smoother,  and  as  the  moon  rose  higher,  it  attained 
a  brightness  almost  equal  to  that  of  the  sun,  casting 
over  the  clear  sky  a  deep-blue  tint  that  shaded 
indefinitely  into  the  darkness  extending  from  itself 
to  the  horizon.  Late  in  the  night  he  remembered  the 
danger  of  sleeping  in  strong  moonlight,  and  arising 
softly  to  cover  her  face  with  his  damp  handkerchief, 
he  found  her  looking  at  him. 

"  We  are  almost  there,  John.  Wake  me  when  we 
arrive,"  she  said,  and  closed  her  eyes. 

He  covered  her  face,  and  marveling  at  her  words, 
looked  ahead.  He  was  within  a  half-mile  of  a  sandy 
beach  which  bordered  a  wooded  island.  The  sea 
was  now  like  glass  in  its  level  smoothness  and  the 
air  was  warm  and  fragrant  with  the  smell  of  flowers 
and  foliage.  He  shipped  the  oars,  and  pulled  to 
the  beach.  As  the  boat  grounded  she  arose,  and  he 
helped  her  ashore. 

The  beach  shone  white  under  the  moonlight,  and 
dotting  it  were  large  shellfish  and  moving  crabs  that 
scuttled  away  from  them.  Bordering  the  beach  were 
forest  and  undergrowth  with  interlacery  of  flowering 
vines.  A  ridge  of  rocks  near  by  disclosed  caves  and 
hollows,  some  filled  by  the  water  of  tinkling  cascades. 
Oranges  showed  in  the  branches  of  trees,  and  cocoa- 
palms  lifted  their  heads  high  in  the  distance.  A 


188     FROM  THE  ROYAL-YARD  DOWN 

small  deer  arose,  looked  at  them,  and  lay  down, 
while  a  rabbit  inspected  them  from  another  direction 
and  began  nibbling. 

"  An  earthly  paradise,  I  should  say,"  he  observed, 
as  he  hauled  the  boat  up  the  beach.  "  Plenty  of 
food  and  water,  at  any  rate." 

"  It  is  Ilio  Island,"  she  answered,  with  that  same 
dreamy  voice.  "  It  is  uninhabited  and  never  visited." 

"But  surely,  Freda,  something  will  come  along 
and  take  us  off." 

"  No ;  if  I  am  taken  off  I  must  be  married,  of 
course;  and  I  will  never  be  married." 

"Who  to,  Freda?  Whom  must  you  marry  if  we 
are  rescued?  " 

"  The  mate — Mr.  Adams.  Not  you,  John  Owen 
— not  you.  I  do  not  like  you." 

She  was  unbalanced,  of  course;  but  the  speech 
pained  him  immeasurably,  and  he  made  no  answer. 
He  searched  the  clean-cut  horizon  for  a  moment, 
and  when  he  looked  back  she  was  close  to  him,  with 
the  infantile  smile  on  her  face,  candor  and  sanity  in 
her  gray  eyes.  Involuntarily  he  extended  his  arms, 
and  she  nestled  within  them. 

"  You  will  be  married,  Freda,"  he  said ;  "  you  will 
be  married,  and  to  me." 

He  held  her  tightly  and  kissed  her  lips;  but  the 
kiss  ended  in  a  crashing  sound,  and  a  shock  of  pain 
in  his  whole  body  which  expelled  the  breath  from 
his  lungs.  The  moonlit  island,  sandy  beach,  blue 
sea  and  sky  were  swallowed  in  a  blaze  of  light,  which 
gave  way  to  pitchy  darkness,  with  rain  on  his  face 
.and  whistling  wind  in  his  ears,  while  he  clung  with 
Iboth  arms,  not  to  a  girl,  but  to  a  hard  wet,  and  cold 
anizzentopgallant-yard  whose  iron  jack-stay  had 


FROM  THE  ROYAL-YARD  DOWN     189 

bumped  him  severely  between  the  eyes.  Below  him 
in  the  darkness  a  scream  rang  out  followed  by  the 
roar  of  the  mate:  "Are  you  all  right  up  there? 
Want  any  help?" 

He  had  fallen  four  feet. 

When  he  could  speak  he  answered :  "  Pm  all  right, 
sir."  And  catching  the  royal  foot-rope  dangling 
from  the  end  of  the  yard  above  him,  he  brought  it 
to  its  place,  passed  the  seizing,  and  finished  furling 
the  royal.  But  it  was  a  long  job;  his  movements 
were  uncertain,  for  every  nerve  in  his  body  was  jump- 
ing in  its  own  inharmonious  key. 

"  What's  the  matter  wi*  you  up  there?  "  demanded 
the  mate  when  he  reached  the  deck;  and  a  yellow- 
clad  figure  drew  near  to  listen. 

"  It  was  nothing,  sir ;  I  forgot  about  the  foot- 
rope." 

"You're  a  bigger  lunkhead  than  I  thought.  Go 
forrard." 

He  went,  and  when  he  came  aft  at  four  bells  to 
take  his  trick  at  the  wheel,  the  girl  was  still  on 
deck,  standing  near  the  companionway,  facing  for- 
ward. The  mate  stood  at  the  other  side  of  the  bin- 
nacle, looking  at  her,  with  one  elbow  resting  on  the 
house.  There  was  just  light  enough  from  the  cabin 
skylight  for  Owen  to  see  the  expression  which  came 
over  his  face  as  he  watched  the  graceful  figure  bal- 
ancing to  the  heave  of  the  ship.  It  took  on  the  same 
evil  look  which  he  had  seen  in  his  fall,  while  there 
was  no  mistaking  the  thought  behind  the  gleam  in 
his  eyes.  The  mate  looked  up, — into  Owen's  face, — 
and  saw  something  there  which  he  must  have  under- 
stood; for  he  dropped  his  glance  to  the  compass, 
snarled  out,  "  Keep  her  on  the  course,"  and  stepped 


190  FROM  THE  ROYAL- YARD  DOWN 

into  the  lee  alleyway,  where  the  dinghy,  lashed  up- 
side down  on  the  house,  hid  him  from  view. 

The  girl  approached  the  man  at  the  wheel. 

"  I  saw  you  fall,  Mr.  Owen,"  she  said  in  a  trem- 
bling voice,  "  and  I  could  not  help  screaming.  Were 
you  hurt  much?  " 

"  No,  Miss  Folsom,"  he  answered  in  a  low  though 
not  a  steady  tone ;  "  but  I  was  sadly  disappointed." 

"  I  confess  I  was  nervous — very  nervous — when 
you  went  aloft,"  she  said ;  "  and  I  cleared  away  the 
life-buoy.  Then,  when  you  fell,  it  slipped  out  of 
my  hand  and  went  overboard.  Mr.  Adams  scolded 
me.  Wasn't  it  ridiculous  ?  "  There  were  tears  and 
laughter  in  the  speech. 

"  Not  at  all,"  he  said  gravely ;  "  it  saved  my  life 
— for  which  I  thank  you." 

"How— why— " 

"  Who  in  Sam  Hill's  been  casting  off  these  gripe- 
lashings?  "  growled  the  voice  of  the  mate  behind  the 
dinghy. 

The  girl  tittered  hysterically,  and  stepped  beside 
Owen  at  the  wheel,  where  she  patted  the  moving 
spokes,  pretending  to  assist  him  in  steering. 

"  Miss  Freda,"  said  the  officer,  sternly,  as  he  came 
around  the  corner  of  the  house,  "  I  must  ask  you 
plainly  to  let  things  alone ;  and  another  thing,  please 
don't  talk  to  the  man  at  the  wheel." 

"Will  you  please  mind  your  own  business?"  she 
almost  screamed;  and  then,  crying  and  laughing  to- 
gether :  "  If  you  paid  as  much  attention  to  your 
work  as  you  do  to — to — me,  men  wouldn't  fall  from 
aloft  on  account  of  rotten  foot-ropes." 

The  abashed  officer  went  forward,  grumbling  about 
"  discipline  "  and  "  women  aboard  ship."  When  he 


FROM  THE  ROYAL- YARD  DOWN     191 

was  well  out  of  sight  in  the  darkness,  the  girl  turned 
suddenly,  passed  both  arms  around  Owen's  neck,  ex- 
erted a  very  slight  pressure,  patted  him  playfully 
on  the  shoulder  as  she  withdrew  them,  and  sped  down 
the  companionway. 

He  steered  a  wild  course  during  that  trick,  and 
well  deserved  the  profane  criticism  which  he  received 
from  the  mate. 


NEEDS  MUST  WHEN  THE  DEVIL 
DRIVES 

HOGGED  at  bow  and  stern,  her  deck  sloped  at 
the  ends  like  a  truck's  platform,  while  a  slight 
twist  in  the  old  hull  canted  the  foremast  to  port  and 
the  mizzen  to  starboard.  It  would  be  hard  to  know 
when  she  was  on  an  even  keel.  The  uneven  planking, 
inboard  and  out,  was  scarred  like  a  chopping-block, 
possibly  from  a  former  and  intimate  acquaintance 
with  the  coal  trade.  Aloft  were  dingy  gray  spars, 
slack  hemp  rigging,  untarred  for  years,  and  tan- 
colored  sails,  mended  with  patch  upon  patch  of 
lighter-hued  canvas  that  seemed  about  to  fall  apart 
from  their  own  weight.  She  was  English-built,  bark- 
rigged,  bluff  in  the  bow,  square  in  the  stern,  un- 
painted  and  leaky — on  the  whole  as  unkempt  and 
disreputable-looking  a  craft  as  ever  flew  the  black 
flag;  and  with  the  clank  of  the  pumps  marking  time 
to  the  wailing  squeak  of  the  tiller-ropes,  she  wallowed 
through  the  waves  like  a  log  in  an  eddying  tideway. 
Even  the  black  flag  at  the  gaff-end  wore  a  make- 
shift, slovenly  air.  It  was  a  square  section  of  the 
bark's  foreroyal,  painted  black  around  the  skull- 
and-cross-bones  design,  which  had  been  left  the  orig- 
inal hue  of  the  canvas.  The  port-holes  were  equally 
slovenly  in  appearance,  being  cut  through  between 
stanchions  with  axes  instead  of  saws;  and  the  bul- 
warks were  further  disfigured  by  extra  holes  smashed 
through  at  the  stanchions  to  take  the  lashings  of 
the  gun-breechings.  But  the  guns  were  bright  and 


NEEDS  MUST  WHEN  DEVIL  DRIVES     198 

cared  for,  as  were  the  uniforms  of  the  crew;  for 
they  had  been  lately  transhipped.  Far  from  home, 
with  a  general  cargo,  this  ancient  trader  had  been 
taken  in  a  fog  by  Captain  Swarth  and  his  men  an 
hour  before  their  own  well-found  vessel  had  sunk 
alongside — which  gave  them  just  time  to  hoist  over 
guns  and  ammunition.  When  the  fog  shifted,  the 
pursuing  English  war-brig  that  had  riddled  the 
pirate  saw  nothing  but  the  peaceful  old  tub  ahead, 
and  went  on  into  the  fog,  looking  for  the  other. 

"  Any  port  in  a  storm,  Angel,"  remarked  Captain 
Swarth,  as  he  flashed  his  keen  eyes  over  the  rickety 
fabric  aloft ;  "  but  we'll  find  a  better  one  soon.  How 
do  the  boys  stand  the  pumping?  " 

Mr.  Angel  Todd,  first  mate  and  quartermaster, 
filled  a  black  pipe  before  answering.  Then,  between 
the  first  and  second  deep  puffs,  he  said:  "  Growlin* 
— dammum." 

"At  the  work?" 

"Yep,  and  the  grub.  And  they  say  the  'tween- 
deck  and  forecastle  smells  o*  bedbugs  and  bilge- 
water,  and  they  want  their  grog.  *  An  ungodly  wit- 
ness scorneth  judgment:  and  the  mouth  of  the  wicked 
devoureth  iniquity.'  "  Mr.  Todd  had  been  educated 
for  the  pulpit;  but,  going  out  as  a  missionary,  he 
had  fallen  into  ungodly  ways  and  taken  to  the  sea, 
where  he  was  more  successful.  Many  of  his  old 
phrasings  clung  to  him. 

"  Well,"  drawled  the  captain,  "  men  get  fastidious 
and  high-toned  in  this  business, — can't  blame  them, 
— but  we've  got  to  make  the  coast,  and  if  we  don't 
pick  up  something  on  the  way,  we  must  careen  and 
stop  the  leak.  Then  they'll  have  something  to  growl 
about." 


194    NEEDS  MUST  WHEN  DEVIL  DRIVES 

"  S'pose  the  brig  follows  us  in?  " 

"Hope  she  will,"  said  Captain  Swarth,  with  a 
pleasant  smile  and  a  lightening  of  his  eyes — "  hope 
she  will,  and  give  me  a  chance.  Her  majestic  widow- 
ship  owes  me  a  brig,  and  that's  a  fine  one." 

Mr.  Todd  had  never  been  known  to  smile,  but  at 
this  speech  he  lifted  one  eyebrow  and  turned  his 
saturnine  face  full  at  his  superior,  inquiry  written 
upon  every  line  of  it.  Captain  Swarth  was  musing, 
however,  and  said  no  more;  so  the  mate,  knowing 
better  than  to  attempt  probing  his  mind,  swung  his 
long  figure  down  the  poop-ladder,  and  went  forward 
to  harass  the  men — which,  in  their  opinion,  was  all 
he  was  good  for. 

According  to  his  mood,  Mr.  Todd's  speech  was 
choicest  English  or  the  cosmopolitan,  technical  slang 
of  the  sea,  mingled  with  wonderful  profanity.  But 
one  habit  of  his  early  days  he  never  dropped:  he 
wore,  in  the  hottest  weather,  and  in  storm  and  battle, 
the  black  frock  and  choker  of  the  clerical  profession. 
Standing  now  with  one  foot  on  the  fore-hatch,  wav- 
ing his  long  arms  and  objurgating  the  scowling  men 
at  the  pumps,  he  might  easily  have  seemed,  to  any 
one  beyond  the  reach  of  his  language,  to  be  a  clergy- 
man exhorting  them.  Captain  Swarth  watched  him 
with  an  amused  look  on  his  sunburnt  face,  and  mut- 
tered :  "  Good  man,  every  inch  of  him,  but  he  can't 
handle  men."  Then  he  called  him  aft. 

"  Angel,"  he  said,  "  we  made  a  mistake  in  cutting 
the  ports;  we  can't  catch  anything  afloat  that  sees 
them,  so  we'll  have  to  pass  for  a  peaceable  craft  until 
we  can  drift  close  enough  to  board  something.  I 
think  the  brig*!!  be  back  this  way,  too.  Get  out 
some  old  tarpaulins  and  cover  up  the  ports.  Paint 


NEEDS  MUST  WHEN  DEVIL  DRIVES     195 

them,  if  you  can,  the  color  of  the  sides,  and  you 
might  coil  some  lines  over  the  rail,  as  though  to  dry. 
Then  you  can  break  out  cargo  and  strike  the  guns 
down  the  main-hatch." 

Three  days  later,  with  Cape  St.  Roque  a  black 
line  to  the  westward,  a  round  shot  across  her  bows 
brought  the  old  vessel — minus  the  black  emblem  now, 
and  outwardly  respectable — up  to  the  wind,  with 
maintopsail  aback,  while  Captain  Swarth  and  a 
dozen  of  his  men — equally  respectable  in  the  non- 
descript rig  of  the  merchant  sailor — watched  the  ap- 
proach of  an  English  brig  of  war.  Mr.  Todd  and 
the  rest  of  the  crew  were  below  hatches  with  the 
guns. 

The  brig  came  down  the  wind  like  a  graceful  bird 
— a  splendid  craft,  black,  shiny,  and  shipshape,  five 
guns  to  a  side,  brass-bound  officers  on  her  quarter- 
deck, blue- jackets  darting  about  her  white  deck  and 
up  aloft,  a  homeward-bound  pennant  trailing  from 
her  main-truck,  and  at  her  gaff-end  a  British  ensign 
as  large  as  her  mainroyal.  Captain  Swarth  lazily 
hoisted  the  English  flag  to  the  bark's  gaff,  and,  as 
the  brig  rounded  to  on  his  weather  beam,  he  pointed 
to  it;  but  his  dark  eyes  sparkled  enviously  as  he 
viewed  the  craft  whose  government's  protection  he 
appealed  to. 

"  Bark  ahoy ! "  came  a  voice  through  a  trumpet. 
"What  bark  is  that?" 

Captain  Swarth  swung  himself  into  the  mizzen- 
rigging  and  answered  through  his  hands  with  an  ex- 
cellent cockney  accent :  "  Tryde  Wind  o'  Lunnon, 
Cappen  Quirk,  fifty-one  dyes  out  fro'  Liverpool, 
bound  to  Callao,  gen'ral  cargo." 

"  You  were  not  heading  for  the  Horn." 


196     NEEDS  MUST  WHEN  DEVIL  DRIVES 

"Hi'm  a-leakin'  badly.  Hi'm  a-goin'  to  myke 
the  coast  to  careen.  D'ye  happen  to  know  a  good 
place?" 

An  officer  left  the  group  and  returned  with  what 
Captain  Swarth  knew  was  a  chart,  which  a  few  of 
them  studied,  while  their  captain  hailed  again: 

"  See  anything  more  of  that  pirate  brig  the  other 
day?" 

"What!  a  pirate?  Be  'e  a  pirate?"  answered 
Captain  Swarth,  in  agitated  tones.  "  Be  that  you 
a-chasin'  of  'im?  Nao,  hi  seed  nothink  of  'im  arter 
the  fog  shut  Mm  out." 

The  captain  conferred  with  his  officers  a  moment, 
then  called: 

"  We  are  going  in  to  careen  ourselves.  That  fellow 
struck  us  on  the  water-line.  We  are  homeward 
bound,  and  Rio's  too  far  to  run  back.  Follow  us 
in ;  but  if  you  lose  sight  of  us,  it's  a  small  bay,  lati- 
tude nine  fifty-one  forty  south,  rocks  to  the  north, 
lowland  to  the  south,  good  water  at  the  entrance,  and 
a  fine  beach.  Look  out  for  the  brig.  It's  Swarth 
and  his  gang.  Good  morning." 

"  Aye,  that  hi  will.    Thank  ye.    Good  marninV 

In  three  hours  the  brig  was  a  speck  under  the 
rising  land  ahead;  in  another,  she  was  out  of  sight; 
but  before  this  Captain  Swarth  and  his  crew  had 
held  a  long  conference,  which  resulted  in  sail  being 
shortened,  though  the  man  at  the  wheel  was  given 
a  straight  course  to  the  bay  described  by  the  English 
captain. 

Late  on  the  following  afternoon  the  old  bark  blun- 
dered into  this  bay — a  rippling  sheet  of  water,  bag- 
shaped,  and  bordered  on  all  sides  by  a  sandy  beach. 
Stretching  up  to  the  mountainous  country  was  a 


NEEDS  MUST  WHEN  DEVIL  DRIVES     197 

luxurious  forest  of  palm,  laurel,  and  cactus,  bound 
and  intertwined  by  almost  impassable  undergrowth, 
and  about  half-way  from  the  entrance  to  the  end  of 
the  bay  was  the  English  brig,  moored  and  slightly 
careened  on  the  inshore  beach.  Captain  Swarth's 
seamanly  eye  noted  certain  appearances  of  the  tackles 
that  held  her  down,  which  told  him  that  the  work 
was  done  and  she  was  being  slacked  upright.  "  Just 
in  time,"  he  muttered. 

They  brought  the  bark  to  anchor  near  the  beach, 
about  a  half-mile  from  the  brig,  furled  the  canvas, 
and  ran  out  an  anchor  astern,  with  the  cable  over 
the  taffrail.  Heaving  on  this,  they  brought  the 
vessel  parallel  with  the  shore.  So  far,  good.  Guns 
and  cargo  lightered  ashore,  more  anchors  seaward 
to  keep  her  off  the  beach,  masthead  tackles  to  the 
trees  to  heave  her  down,  and  preventer  rigging  and 
braces  to  assist  the  masts,  would  have  been  next  in 
order,  but  they  proceeded  no  further  toward  careen- 
ing. Instead,  they  lowered  the  two  crazy  boats,  pro- 
visioned and  armed  them  on  the  inshore  side  of  the 
bark,  made  certain  other  preparations — and  waited. 

On  the  deck  of  the  English  brig  things  were  mov- 
ing. A  gang  of  blue-jackets,  under  the  first  lieu- 
tenant, were  heaving  in  the  cable;  another  gang, 
under  the  boatswain,  were  sending  down  and  stow- 
ing away  the  heavy  tackles  and  careening-gear,  tail- 
ing out  halyards  and  sheets  and  coiling  down  the 
light-running  rigging,  while  topmen  aloft  loosed  the 
canvas  to  bunt-gaskets,  ready  to  drop  it  at  the  call 
from  the  deck. 

The  second  lieutenant,  overseeing  this  latter,  paced 
the  port  quarter-deck  and  answered  remarks  from 
Captain  Bunco,  who  paced  the  sacred  starboard  side 


198     NEEDS  MUST  WHEN  DEVIL  DRIVES 

(the  brig  being  at  anchor)  and  occasionally  turned 
his  glass  on  the  dilapidated  craft  down  the  beach. 

"  Seems  to  me,  Mr.  Shack,"  he  said  across  the 
deck,  "that  an  owner  who  would  send  that  bark 
around  the  Horn,  and  the  master  who  would  take 
her,  ought  to  be  sequestered  and  cared  for,  either  in 
an  asylum  or  in  jail." 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  think  so  too,"  answered  the  second 
lieutenant,  looking  aft.  "  Might  be  an  insurance  job. 
Clear  away  that  bunt-gasket  on  the  royal-yard,"  he 
added  in  a  roar. 

Captain  Bunce — round,  rosy,  with  brilliant  mut- 
ton-chop whiskers — muttered :  "  Insurance — wrecked 
intentionally — no,  not  here  where  we  are ;  wouldn't 
court  investigation  by  her  Majesty's  officers."  He 
rolled  forward,  then  aft,  and  looked  again  through 
the  glass. 

"  Very  large  crew — very  large,"  he  said ;  "  very 
curious,  Mr.  Shack." 

A  hail  from  the  forecastle,  announcing  that  the 
anchor  was  short,  prevented  Mr.  Shack's  answering. 
Captain  Bunce  waved  a  deprecatory  hand  to  the  first 
lieutenant,  who  came  aft  at  once,  while  Mr.  Shack 
descended  to  the  waist,  and  the  boatswain  ascended 
to  the  forecastle  steps  to  attend  to  the  anchor.  The 
first  lieutenant  now  had  charge,  and  from  the  quarter- 
deck gave  his  orders  to  the  crew,  while  Captain  Bunce 
busied  himself  with  his  glass  and  his  thoughts. 

Fore-and-aft  sail  was  set  and  head-sheets  trimmed 
down  to  port,  square  sails  were  dropped,  sheeted 
home,  and  hoisted,  foreyards  braced  to  port,  the 
anchor  tripped  and  fished,  and  the  brig  paid  off 
from  the  land-breeze,  and,  with  foreyards  swung, 
steadied  down  to  a  course  for  the  entrance. 


NEEDS  MUST  WHEN  DEVIL  DRIVES     199 

"  Mr.  Duncan,"  said  the  captain,  "  there  are  fully 
forty  men  on  that  bark's  deck,  all  dressed  alike — all 
in  red  shirts  and  knitted  caps — and  all  dancing 
around  like  madmen.  Look !  "  He  handed  the  glass 
to  the  first  lieutenant,  who  brought  it  to  bear. 

"  Strange,"  said  the  officer,  after  a  short  scrutiny ; 
"  there  were  only  a  few  showing  when  we  spoke  her 
outside.  It  looks  as  though  they  were  all  drunk." 

As  they  drew  near,  sounds  of  singing — uproarious 
discord — reached  them,  and  soon  they  could  see  with 
the  naked  eye  that  the  men  on  the  bark  were  wres- 
tling, dancing,  and  running  about. 

"Quarters,  sir?"  inquired  Mr.  Duncan.  "Shall 
we  bring  to  alongside  ?  " 

"Well — no — not  yet,"  said  the  captain,  hesitat- 
ingly ;  "  it's  all  right — possibly ;  yet  it  is  strange. 
Wait  a  little." 

They  waited,  and  had  sailed  down  almost  abreast 
of  the  gray  old  craft,  noticing,  as  they  drew  near, 
an  appreciable  diminution  of  the  uproar,  when  a  flag 
arose  from  the  stern  of  the  bark,  a  dusky  flag  that 
straightened  out  directly  tward  them,  so  that  it  was 
difficult  to  make  out. 

But  they  soon  understood.  As  they  reached  a 
point  squarely  abreast  of  the  bark,  five  points  of 
flame  burst  from  her  innocent  gray  sides,  five  clouds 
of  smoke  ascended,  and  five  round  shot,  coming  with 
the  thunder  of  the  guns,  hurtled  through  their  rig- 
ging. Then  they  saw  the  design  of  the  flag,  a  white 
skull  and  cross-bones,  and  noted  another,  a  black 
flag  too,  but  pennant-shaped,  and  showing  in  rudely 
painted  letters  the  single  word  "  Swarth,"  sailing  up 
to  the  forepeak. 

"  Thunder  and  lightning !  "  roared  Captain  Bunce. 


200     NEEDS  MUST  WHEN  DEVIL  DRIVES 

"  Quarters,  Mr.  Duncan,  quarters,  and  in  with  the 
kites.  Give  it  to  them.  Put  about  first." 

A  youngster  of  the  crew  had  sprung  below  and 
immediately  emerged  with  a  drum  which,  without 
definite  instruction,  he  hammered  vigorously ;  but  be- 
fore he  had  begun,  men  were  clearing  away  guns  and 
manning  flying-jib  downhaul  and  royal  clue-lines. 
Others  sprang  to  stations,  anticipating  all  that  the 
sharp  voice  of  the  first  lieutenant  could  order. 
Around  came  the  brig  on  the  other  tack  and  sailed 
back,  receiving  another  broadside  through  her  rig- 
ging and  answering  with  her  starboard  guns.  Then 
for  a  time  the  din  was  deafening.  The  brig  backed 
her  main-yards  and  sent  broadside  after  broadside 
into  the  hull  of  the  old  craft.  But  it  was  not  until 
the  eighth  had  gone  that  Captain  Bunce  noticed 
through  the  smoke  that  the  pirates  were  not  firing. 
The  smoke  from  the  burning  canvas  port-coverings 
had  deluded  him.  He  ordered  a  cessation.  Fully 
forty  solid  shot  had  torn  through  that  old  hull  near 
the  water-line,  and  not  a  man  could  now  be  seen  on 
her  deck. 

"  Out  with  the  boats,  Mr.  Duncan,"  he  said ; 
"they're  drunk  or  crazy,  but  they're  the  men  we 
want.  Capture  them." 

"  Suppose  they  run,  sir — suppose  they  take  to 
their  boats  and  get  into  the  woods — shall  we  follow?  " 

"  No,  not  past  the  beach — not  into  an  ambush." 

The  four  boat-loads  of  men  which  put  off  from 
the  brig  found  nothing  but  a  deserted  deck  on  the 
sinking  bark  and  two  empty  boats  hauled  up  on 
the  beach.  The  pirates  were  in  the  woods,  undoubt- 
edly, having  kept  the  bark  between  themselves  and 
the  brig  as  they  pulled  ashore.  While  the  blue- 


NEEDS  MUST  WHEN  DEVIL  DRIVES     201 

jackets  clustered  around  the  bows  of  their  boats  and 
watched  nervously  the  line  of  forest  up  the  beach, 
from  which  bullets  might  come  at  any  time,  the  two 
lieutenants  conferred  for  a  few  moments,  and  had 
decided  to  put  back,  when  a  rattling  chorus  of  pistol 
reports  sounded  from  the  depths  of  the  woods.  It 
died  away;  then  was  heard  a  crashing  of  bush  and 
branch,  and  out  upon  the  sands  sprang  a  figure — a 
long,  weird  figure  in  black  frock  of  clerical  cut.  Into 
their  midst  it  sped  with  mighty  bounds,  and  sinking 
down,  lifted  a  glad  face  to  the  heavens  with  the  groan- 
ing utterance :  "  O  God,  I  thank  thee.  Protect  me, 
gentlemen — protect  me  from  those  wicked  men." 

"  What  is  it?  Who  are  you?  "  asked  Mr.  Duncan. 
"  Were  they  shooting  at  you?  " 

"  Yes,  at  me,  who  never  harmed  a  fly.  They  would 
have  killed  me.  My  name  is  Todd.  Oh,  such  suf- 
fering! But  you  will  protect  me?  You  are  English 
officers.  You  are  not  pirates  and  murderers." 

"  But  what  has  happened?  Do  you  live  around 
here?" 

It  took  some  time  for  Mr.  Todd  to  quiet  down 
sufficiently  to  tell  his  story  coherently.  He  was 
an  humble  laborer  in  the  vineyard  of  the  Lord.  He 
had  gleaned  among  the  poorest  of  the  native  popula- 
tion in  the  outskirts  of  Rio  de  Janeiro  until  his 
health  suffered,  and  had  taken  passage  home  in  a 
passenger-ship,  which,  ten  days  out,  was  captured 
by  a  pirate  brig.  And  the  pirate  crew  had  mur- 
dered every  soul  on  board  but  himself,  and  only 
spared  his  life,  as  he  thought,  for  the  purpose  of 
amusement;  for  they  had  compelled  him  to  dance — 
he,  a  minister  of  the  gospel — and  had  made  him 
drink  under  torture,  and  recite  ribald  poetry,  and 


203    NEEDS  MUST  WHEN  DEVIL  DRIVES 

swear,  and  wash  their  clothes.  All  sorts  of  indig- 
nities had  been  heaped  upon  him,  but  he  had  remem- 
bered the  injunction  of  the  Master;  he  had  invaria- 
bly turned  the  other  cheek  when  smitten,  and  had 
prayed  for  their  souls.  He  told  of  the  flight  from 
the  English  war-brig,  of  the  taking  of  the  old  bark 
in  the  fog  and  the  sinking  of  the  pirate  craft,  of 
the  transfer  of  guns  and  treasure  to  the  bark,  and 
the  interview  at  sea  with  the  English  brig,  in  which 
Captain  Swarth  had  deceived  the  other,  and  of  Cap- 
tain Swarth's  reckless  confidence  in  himself,  which 
had  induced  him  to  follow  the  brig  in  and  careen  in 
the  same  bay.  He  wound  up  his  tale  with  a  lurid 
description  of  the  drunken  debauch  following  the 
anchoring  of  the  bark, — during  which  he  had  trem- 
bled for  his  life, — of  the  insane  firing  on  the  brig 
as  she  passed,  and  the  tumbling  into  the  boats  when 
the  brig  returned  the  fire,  of  the  flight  into  the 
woods,  the  fighting  among  themselves,  and  his  escape 
under  fire. 

As  he  finished  he  offered  an  incoherent  prayer 
of  thankfulness,  and  the  sympathetic  Mr.  Shack 
drew  forth  his  pocket-flask  and  offered  it  to  the  agi- 
tated sufferer;  but  Mr.  Todd,  who  could  probably 
drink  more  whisky  and  feel  it  less  than  any  other 
man  in  the  pirate  crew,  declined  the  poison  with  a 
shiver  of  abhorrence.  Then  Mr.  Duncan,  who  had 
listened  thoughtfully,  said :  "  You  speak  of  treasure ; 
did  they  take  it  with  them?  " 

Mr.  Todd  opened  wide  his  eyes,  looked  toward 
the  dark  shades  of  the  forest,  then  at  the  three  masts 
of  the  bark  rising  out  of  the  water,  and  answered 
impressively : 

"  Gentlemen,  they  did  not.    They  were  intoxicated 


NEEDS  MUST  WHEN  DEVIL  DRIVES     203 

— mad  with  liquor.  They  took  arms  and  a  knapsack 
of  food  to  each  man, — they  spoke  of  an  inland  re- 
treat to  which  they  were  going, — but  the  treasure 
from  the  passenger-hip — the  bars  of  gold  and  the 
bags  of  diamonds — they  forgot.  They  transferred 
it  from  their  sinking  vessel  when  sober,  but  when  in- 
toxicated they  remembered  food  and  left  it  behind. 
Gentlemen,  there  is  untold  wealth  in  the  hull  out  there 
which  your  fire  has  sunk.  It  is,  verily,  the  root  of 
all  evil;  let  us  hope  that  it  remains  at  the  bottom 
of  the  sea." 

"  Bars  of  gold — bags  of  diamonds ! "  said  Mr. 
Duncan.  "  Come  on  board,  Mr.  Todd ;  we'll  see  what 
the  captain  thinks." 

At  dinner  in  the  brig's  cabin  that  evening — as  a 
prelude  to  which  Mr.  Todd  said  grace — his  account 
of  the  wealth  spread  out  on  Captain  Swarth's  cabin 
table  after  the  taking  of  the  passenger-ship  was 
something  to  arouse  interest  in  a  less  worldly  man 
than  Captain  Bunce.  Virgin  gold — in  bars,  ingots, 
bricks,  and  dust — from  the  Morro  Velho  mines  of 
Brazil  was  there,  piled  up  on  the  table  until  the  legs 
had  given  way  and  launched  the  glittering  mass  to 
the  floor.  Diamonds  uncut,  uncounted,  of  untold 
value, — a  three  years'  product  of  the  whole  Chapada 
district, — some  as  large  as  walnuts,  had  been  spread 
out  and  tossed  about  like  marbles  by  those  lawless 
men,  then  boxed  up  with  the  gold  and  stowed  among 
the  cargo  under  the  main-hatch.  Again  Mr.  Todd 
expressed  the  hope  that  Providence  would  see  fit  to 
let  this  treasure  remain  where  the  pirates  had  left 
it,  no  longer  to  tempt  man  to  kill  and  steal.  But 
Captain  Bunce  and  his  officers  thought  differently. 
Glances,  then  tentative  comments,  were  exchanged, 


204    NEEDS  MUST  WHEN  DEVIL  DRIVES 

and  in  five  minutes  they  were  of  one  mind,  even  in- 
cluding Mr.  Todd;  for  it  may  not  be  needless  to  state 
that  the  treasure  and  the  passenger-ship  existed 
only  in  his  imagination. 

Pending  the  return  of  the  boats  the  brig's  anchor 
had  been  dropped  about  two  hundred  yards  from  the 
bark ;  now  canvas  was  furled,  and  at  eight  bells  all 
hands  were  mustered  aft  to  hear  what  was  in  store. 
Captain  Bunce  stated  the  case  succinctly;  they  were 
homeward  bound  and  under  general  orders  until  they 
reported  to  the  admiral  at  Plymouth.  Treasure  was 
within  their  reach,  apportionable,  when  obtained,  as 
prize-money.  It  was  useless  to  pursue  the  pirates 
into  the  Brazilian  jungle ;  but  they  would  need  to  be 
watchful  and  ready  for  surprise  at  any  moment, 
either  while  at  work  raising  the  bark  or  at  night; 
for  though  they  had  brought  out  the  two  boats  in 
which  the  pirates  had  escaped,  they  could  find  other 
means  of  attack,  should  they  dare  or  care  to  make  it. 
The  English  sailors  cheered.  Mr.  Todd  begged  to 
say  a  few  words,  and  enjoined  them  not  to  allow  the 
love  of  lucre  to  tempt  their  minds  from  the  duty  they 
owed  to  their  God,  their  country,  and  their  captain, 
which  was  also  applauded  and  forgotten  in  a  mo- 
ment. Then,  leaving  a  double-anchor  watch,  pro- 
vided with  blue  fire  and  strict  instructions,  on  deck, 
the  crew  turned  in  to  dream  of  an  affluent  future,  and 
Mr.  Todd  was  shown  to  a  comfortable  stateroom. 
He  removed  his  coat  and  vest,  closed  the  door  and 
dead-light,  filled  and  lighted  his  black  pipe,  and  rolled 
into  the  berth  with  a  seaman's  sigh  of  contentment. 

"  That  was  a  good  dinner,"  he  murmured,  after 
he  had  filled  the  room  with  smoke — "  a  good  dinner. 
Nothing  on  earth  is  too  good  for  a  sky-pilot.  I'd 


NEEDS  MUST  WHEN  DEVIL  DRIVES    205 

go  back  to  the  business  when  I've  made  my  pile,  if  it 
wasn't  so  all-fired  hard  on  the  throat;  and  then  the 
trustees,  with  their  eternal  kicking  on  economy,  and 
the  sisters,  and  the  donation-parties — yah,  to  h — 1 
with  'em !  Wonder  if  this  brig  ever  carried  a  chap- 
lain? Wonder  how  Bill  and  the  boys  are  making 
out?  Fine  brig,  this, — 'leven  knots  on  a  bow-line, 
I'll  bet, — fine  state-room,  good  grub,  nothin'  to  do 
but  save  souls  and  preach  the  Word  on  Sunday. 
Guess  I'll  strike  the  fat— duffer— for  the— job— in 
— the — morn — •"  The  rest  of  the  sentence  merged 
into  a  snore,  and  Mr.  Todd  slept  through  the  night 
in  the  fumes  of  tobacco,  which  so  permeated  his  very 
being  that  Captain  Bunce  remarked  it  at  breakfast. 
"  Smoke,  Captain  Bunce?  I  smoke?  Not  I,"  he  an- 
swered warmly;  "but,  you  see,  those  ungodly  men 
compelled  me  to  clean  all  their  pipes, — forty  foul 
pipes, — and  I  do  not  doubt  that  some  nicotine  has 
lodged  on  my  clothing."  Whereupon  Captain  Bunce 
told  of  a  chaplain  he  had  once  sailed  with  whose 
clothing  smelled  so  vilely  that  he  himself  had  framed 
a  petition  to  the  admiral  for  his  transfer  to  another 
ship  and  station.  And  the  little  story  had  the  effect 
on  Mr.  Todd  of  causing  him  mentally  to  vow  that 
he'd  "  ship  with  no  man  who  didn't  allow  smoking," 
and  openly  aver  that  no  sincere,  consistent  Chris- 
tian clergyman  would  be  satisfied  to  stultify  himself 
and  waste  his  energies  in  the  comfort  and  ease  of  a 
naval  chaplaincy,  and  that  a  chaplain  who  would 
smoke  should  be  discredited  and  forced  out  of  the 
profession.  But  later,  when  Captain  Bunce  and  his 
officers  lighted  fat  cigars,  and  he  learned  that  the 
aforesaid  chaplain  had  merely  been  a  careless  dev- 
otee of  pipe  and  pigtail  twist,  Mr.  Todd's  feelings 


206    NEEDS  MUST  WHEN  DEVIL  DRIVES 

may  be  imagined  (by  a  smoker);  but  he  had  com- 
mitted himself  against  tobacco  and  must  suffer. 

During  the  breakfast  the  two  lieutenants  reported 
the  results  of  a  survey  which  they  had  taken  of  the 
wreck  at  daylight. 

"  We  find,"  said  Mr.  Duncan,  "  about  nine  feet  of 
water  over  the  deck  at  the  stern,  and  about  three  feet 
over  the  fore-hatch  at  low  tide.  The  topgallant- 
forecastle  is  awash  and  the  end  of  the  bowsprit  out  of 
water,  so  that  we  can  easily  reach  the  upper  ends  of 
the  bob-stays.  There  is  about  five  feet  rise  and  fall 
of  tide.  Now,  we  have  no  pontoons  nor  casks.  Our 
only  plan,  captain,  is  to  lift  her  bodily." 

"  But  we  have  a  diving-suit  and  air-pump,"  said 
Mr.  Shack,  enthusiastically,  "  and  fifty  men  ready 
to  dive  without  suits.  We  can  raise  her,  captain,  in 
two  weeks." 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Captain  Bunce,  grandly,  "  I 
have  full  faith  in  your  seamanship  and  skill.  I  leave 
the  work  in  your  hands."  Which  was  equivalent  to 
an  admission  that  he  was  fat  and  lazy,  and  did  not 
care  to  take  an  active  part. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Duncan,  and  "  Thank 
you,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Shack;  then  the  captain  said 
other  pleasant  things,  which  brought  other  pleasant 
responses,  and  the  breakfast  passed  off  so  agreeably 
that  Mr.  Todd,  in  spite  of  the  soul-felt  yearning  for 
a  smoke  inspired  by  the  cigars  in  the  mouths  of  the 
others,  felt  the  influence  of  the  enthusiasm  and  be- 
stowed his  blessing — qualifiedly — on  the  enterprise. 

Every  man  of  the  brig's  crew  was  eager  for  the 
work,  but  few  could  engage  at  first;  for  there  was 
nothing  but  the  forecastle-deck  and  the  bark's  rig- 
ging to  stand  upon.  Down  came  the  disgraceful 


NEEDS  MUST  WHEN  DEVIL  DRIVES     207 

black  flags  the  first  thing,  and  up  to  the  gaff  went 
the  ensign  of  Britain.  Then  they  sent  down  the 
fore  and  main  lower  and  topsail  yards,  and  erected 
them  as  sheers  over  the  bow  and  stem,  lower  ends 
well  socketed  in  spare  anchor-stocks  to  prevent  their 
sinking  in  the  sand,  upper  ends  lashed  together  and 
stayed  to  each  other  and  to  the  two  anchors  ahead 
and  astern.  To  the  sheer-heads  they  rigged  heavy 
threefold  tackles,  and  to  the  disconnected  bobstays 
(chains  leading  from  the  bowsprit  end  to  the  stem  at 
the  water-line)  they  hooked  the  forward  tackle,  and 
heaving  on  the  submerged  windlass,  lifted  the  bow 
off  the  bottom — high  enough  to  enable  them  to  slip 
two  shots  of  anchor-chain  under  the  keel,  one  to  take 
the  weight  at  the  stern,  the  other  at  the  bow,  for  the 
bobstays  would  pull  out  of  the  stem  under  the  in- 
creased strain  as  the  bark  arose. 

Most  of  this  work  was  done  under  water;  but  a 
wetting  is  nothing  to  men  looking  for  gold,  and 
nobody  cared.  Yet,  as  a  result  of  ruined  uniforms, 
the  order  came  from  Captain  Bunce  to  wear  under- 
clothing only  or  go  naked,  which  latter  the  men  pre- 
ferred, though  the  officers  clung  to  decency  and  tarry 
duck  trousers.  Every  morning  the  day  began  with 
the  washing  of  the  brig's  deck  and  scouring  of  brass- 
work — which  must  be  done  at  sea  though  the  heavens 
fall ;  then  followed  breakfast,  the  arming  of  the  boats 
ready  for  an  attack  from  the  shore,  and  the  descent 
upon  the  bark  of  as  many  men  as  could  work. 

Occasionally  Captain  Bunce  would  order  the 
dinghy,  and,  accompanied  by  Mr.  Todd,  would  visit 
the  bark  and  offer  interfering  suggestions,  after  the 
manner  of  captains,  which  only  embarrassed  the  of- 
ficers ;  and  Mr.  Todd  would  take  advantage  of  these 


208    NEEDS  MUST  WHEN  DEVIL  DRIVES 

occasions  to  make  landlubberly  comments  and  show 
a  sad  ignorance  of  things  nautical.  But  often  he 
would  decline  the  invitation,  and  when  the  captain 
was  gone  would  descend  to  his  room,  and,  shutting 
the  door,  grip  his  beloved — though  empty — black 
pipe  between  his  teeth  and  breathe  through  it,  while 
his  eyes  shone  fiercely  with  unsatisfied  desire,  and  his 
mind  framed  silent  malediction  on  Bill  Swarth  for 
condemning  him  to  this  smokeless  sojourn.  For  he 
dared  not  smoke;  stewards,  cooks,  and  sailors  were 
all  about  him. 

In  three  days  the  bark's  nose  was  as  high  as  the 
seven-part  tackle  would  bring  it,  with  all  men  heav- 
ing who  could  find  room  at  the  windlass-brakes. 
Then  they  clapped  a  luff-tackle  on  the  fall,  and  by 
heaving  on  this,  nippering  and  fleeting  up,  they 
lifted  the  fore-hatch  and  forecastle  scuttle  out  of 
water — which  was  enough.  Before  this  another  gang 
had  been  able  to  slip  the  other  chain  to  position  abaft 
the  mizzenmast,  hook  on  the  tackle,  and  lead  the  fall 
through  a  snatch-block  at  the  quarter-bitts  forward 
to  the  midship  capstan.  Disdaining  the  diving-suit, 
they  swam  down  nine  feet  to  do  these  things,  and 
when  they  had  towed  the  rope  forward  they  de- 
scended seven  feet  to  wind  it  around  the  capstan 
and  ship  the  bars,  which  they  found  in  a  rack  at  the 
mainmast. 

A  man  in  the  water  weighs  practically  nothing, 
and  to  heave  around  a  capstan  under  water  requires 
lateral  resistance.  To  secure  this  they  dived  with 
hammers  and  nails,  and  fastened  a  circle  of  cleats  to 
catch  their  feet.  Then  with  a  boy  on  the  main  fife- 
rail  (his  head  out)  holding  slack,  eighteen  men — 
three  to  a  bar — would  inhale  all  the  air  their  lungs 


NEEDS  MUST  WHEN  DEVIL  DRIVES     209 

could  hold,  and,  with  a  "One,  two,  three,"  would 
flounder  down,  push  the  capstan  around  a  few  pawls, 
and  come  up  gasping,  and  blue  in  the  face  to  perch 
on  their  bars  and  recover.  It  went  slowly,  this  end, 
but  in  three  days  more  they  could  walk  around  with 
their  heads  above  water. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday,  and  they  were  entitled 
to  rest;  but  the  flavor  of  wealth  had  entered  their 
souls,  and  they  petitioned  the  captain  for  privilege 
to  work,  which  was  granted,  to  the  satisfaction  of  the 
officers,  and  against  the  vigorous  protest  of  Mr. 
Todd,  who  had  prepared  a  sermon  and  borrowed 
clean  linen  from  Mr.  Shack  in  which  to  deliver  it. 

With  luff-tackles  on  the  fall  they  hove  the  stern 
up  until  the  cabin  doors  and  all  deck-openings  but  the 
main-hatch  were  out  of  water,  and  then,  with  the 
bark  hanging  to  the  sheers  as  a  swinging-cradle 
hangs  from  its  supports,  some  assisted  the  carpenter 
and  his  mates  in  building  up  and  calking  an  upward 
extension  of  the  main-hatch  coaming  that  reached 
above  water  at  high  tide,  while  others  went  over  the 
side  looking  for  the  shot-holes  of  eight  broadsides. 
These,  when  found,  were  covered  with  planking,  fol- 
lowed by  canvas,  nails  being  driven  with  shackles, 
sounding-leads,  and  stones  from  the  bottom  in  the 
hands  of  naked  men  clinging  to  weighted  stagings — 
men  whose  eyes  protruded,  whose  lungs  ached,  whose 
brains  were  turning. 

Then,  and  before  a  final  inspection  by  the  boat- 
swain in  the  diving-suit  assured  them  that  the  last 
shot-hole  was  covered,  they  began  bailing  from  the 
main-hatch,  and  when  the  water  perceptibly  lowered 
— the  first  index  of  success — a  feverish  yell  arose 
and  continued,  while  nude  lunatics  wrestled  and 


210     NEEDS  MUST  WHEN  DEVIL  DRIVES 

floundered  waist-deep  on  the  flooded  deck.  The 
bark's  pumps  were  manned  and  worked  under  water, 
bailing-pumps — square  tubes  with  one  valve — were 
made  and  plunged  up  and  down  in  each  hatch,  whips 
were  rigged,  and  buckets  rose  and  fell  until  the  ob- 
structing cargo  confined  the  work  to  the  bark's 
pumps.  Can-hooks  replaced  the  buckets  on  the 
whips,  then  boxes  and  barrels  were  hoisted,  broken 
into,  and  thrown  overboard,  until  the  surface  of  the 
bay  was  dotted  with  them.  They  drifted  back  and 
forth  with  the  tide,  some  stranding  on  the  beach, 
others  floating  seaward  through  the  inlet.  And  all 
the  time  that  they  worked,  sharp  eyes  had  watched 
through  the  bushes,  and  a  few  miles  inland,  in  a  glade 
surrounded  by  the  giant  trees  of  the  Brazilian  forest, 
red-shirted  men  lolled  and  smoked  and  grew  fat,  while 
they  discussed  around  the  central  fire  the  qualities 
of  barbecued  wild  oxen,  roast  opossum  and  ven- 
ison, and  criticised  the  seamanship  of  the  English- 
men. 

With  a  clear  deck  to  work  on,  every  man  and  boy 
of  the  brig's  crew,  except  the  idlers  (stewards,  cooks, 
and  servants),  was  requisitioned,  and  boxes  flew  mer- 
rily ;  but  night  closed  down  on  the  tenth  day  of  their 
labor  without  sign  of  the  treasure,  and  now  Mr. 
Todd,  who  had  noticed  a  shade  of  testiness  in  the 
queries  of  the  officers  as  to  the  exact  location  of  the 
gold  and  diamonds,  expressed  a  desire  to  climb  the 
rigging  next  afternoon,  a  feat  he  had  often  wished 
to  perform,  which  he  did  clumsily,  going  through  the 
lubber's  hole,  and  seated  in  the  maintop  with  Mr. 
Duncan's  Bible,  he  remained  in  quiet  meditation  and 
apparent  reading  and  prayer  until  the  tropic  day 
changed  to  sudden  twilight  and  darkness,  and  the 


NEEDS  MUST  WHEN  DEVIL  DRIVES     211 

hysterical  crew  returned.  Then  he  came  down  to 
dinner. 

In  the  morning  the  work  was  resumed,  and  more 
boxes  sprinkled  the  bay.  They  drifted  up  with  the 
flood,  and  came  back  with  the  ebb-tide;  but  among 
them  now  were  about  forty  others,  unobserved  by 
Captain  Bunce,  pacing  his  quarter-deck,  but  noted 
keenly  by  Mr.  Todd.  These  forty  drifted  slowly  to 
the  offshore  side  of  the  brig  and  stopped,  bobbing  up 
and  down  on  the  crisp  waves,  even  though  the  wind 
blew  briskly  with  the  tide,  and  they  should  have  gone 
on  with  the  others.  It  was  then  that  Captain  Bunce 
stepped  below  for  a  cigar,  and  it  was  then  that  Mr. 
Todd  became  strangely  excited,  hopping  along  the 
port-rail  and  throwing  overboard  every  rope's  end 
within  reach,  to  the  wonder  and  scandal  of  an  open- 
eyed  steward  in  the  cabin  door,  who  immediately 
apprised  the  captain. 

Captain  Bunce,  smoking  a  freshly  lit  cigar, 
emerged  to  witness  a  shocking  sight — the  good  and 
godly  Mr.  Todd,  with  an  intense  expression  on  his 
somber  countenance,  holding  a  match  to  a  black  pipe 
and  puffing  vigorously,  while  through  the  ports  and 
over  the  rail  red-shirted  men,  dripping  wet  and  scowl- 
ing, were  boarding  his  brig.  Each  man  carried  a 
cutlass  and  twelve-inch  knife,  and  Captain  Bunce 
needed  no  special  intelligence  to  know  that  he  was 
tricked. 

One  hail  only  he  gave,  and  Mr.  Todd,  his  pipe 
glowing  like  a  hot  coal,  was  upon  him.  The  captain 
endeavored  to  draw  his  sword,  but  sinewy  arms  en- 
circled him ;  his  cigar  was  removed  from  his  lips  and 
inserted  in  the  mouth  of  Mr.  Todd  alongside  the 
pipe;  then  he  was  lifted,  spluttering  with  astonish- 


212     NEEDS  MUST  WHEN  DEVIL  DRIVES 

ment  and  rage,  borne  to  the  rail  and  dropped  over- 
board, his  sword  clanking  against  the  side  as  he  de- 
scended. When  he  came  to  the  surface  and  looked 
up,  he  saw  through  a  cloud  of  smoke  on  the  rail  the 
lantern-jaws  of  Mr.  Todd  working  convulsively  on 
pipe  and  cigar,  and  heard  the  angry  utterance: 
"  Yes,  d — n  ye,  I  smoke."  Then  a  vibrant  voice  be- 
hind Mr.  Todd  roared  out :  "  Kill  nobody — toss  'em 
overboard,"  and  the  captain  saw  his  servants,  cooks, 
and  stewards  tumbling  over  to  join  him. 

Captain  Bunce  turned  and  swam — there  was  noth- 
ing else  to  do.  Soon  he  could  see  a  black-eyed,  black- 
mustached  man  on  his  quarter-deck  delivering  orders, 
and  he  recognized  the  thundering  voice,  but  none  of 
the  cockney  accent  of  Captain  Quirk.  Men  were  al- 
ready on  the  yards  loosing  canvas ;  and  as  he  turned 
on  his  back  to  rest — for,  though  fleshy  and  buoyant, 
swimming  in  full  uniform  fatigued  him — he  saw  his 
anchor-chains  whizzing  out  the  hawse-pipes. 

He  was  picked  up  by  the  first  boat  to  put  off 
from  the  bark,  and  ordered  pursuit;  but  this  was 
soon  seen  to  be  useless.  The  clean-lined  brig  had 
sternway  equal  to  the  best  speed  of  the  boats,  and 
now  head-sails  were  run  up,  and  she  paid  off  from 
the  shore.  Topsails  were  sheeted  home  and  hoisted, 
she  gathered  way,  and  with  topgallantsails  and 
royals,  spanker  and  staysails,  following  in  quick  suc- 
cession, the  beautiful  craft  hummed  down  to  the  inlet 
and  put  to  sea,  while  yells  of  derision  occasionally 
came  back  to  the  white-faced  men  in  the  boats. 

A  month  later  the  rehabilitated  old  bark  also 
staggered  out  the  entrance,  and,  with  a  naked,  half- 
starved  crew  and  sad-eyed,  dilapidated  officers, 
headed  southward  for  Rio  de  Janeiro. 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

"  Thrice  is  he  armed  that  hath  his  quarrel  just" 

BARD  OF  Avoir. 
"  But  4  times  he  who  gits  hiz  bio'  in  fust." 

JOSH  BILLINGS. 

CAPTAIN  WILLIAM  BELCHIOR  was  more 
V^  than  a  martinet.  He  was  known  as  "  Bucko  " 
Belchior  in  every  port  where  the  English  language  is 
spoken,  having  earned  this  prefix  by  the  earnest 
readiness  with  which,  in  his  days  as  second  and  chief 
mate,  he  would  whirl  belaying-pins,  heavers,  and 
handspikes  about  the  decks,  and  by  his  success  in 
knocking  down,  tricing  up,  and  working  up  sailors 
who  displeased  him.  With  a  blow  of  his  fist  he  had 
broken  the  jaw  of  a  man  helplessly  ironed  in  the 
'tween-deck,  and  on  the  same  voyage,  armed  with 
a  simple  belaying-pin,  had  sprung  alone  into  a  circle 
of  brandishing  sheath-knives  and  quelled  a  mutiny. 
He  was  short,  broad,  beetle-browed,  and  gray-eyed, 
of  undoubted  courage,  but  with  the  quality  of  sym- 
pathy left  out  of  his  nature. 

During  the  ten  years  in  which  he  had  been  in  com- 
mand, he  was  relieved  of  much  of  the  executive  work 
that  had  made  him  famous  when  he  stood  watch,  but 
was  always  ready  to  justify  his  reputation  as  a 
"  bucko  "  should  friction  with  the  crew  occur  past 
the  power  of  his  officers  to  cope  with.  His  ship, 
the  Wilmington,  a  skysail-yard  clipper,  was  rated  by 
sailormen  as  the  "  hottest  "  craft  under  the  American 
flag,  and  Captain  Belchior  himself  was  spoken  of  by 
213 


SI*   WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

consuls  and  commissioners,  far  and  near,  as  a  man 
peculiarly  unfortunate  in  his  selection  of  men;  for 
never  a  passage  ended  but  he  was  complainant 
against  one  or  more  heavily  ironed  and  badly  used-up 
members  of  his  crew. 

His  officers  were,  in  the  language  of  one  of  these 
defendants,  "  o'  the  same  breed  o'  dorg."  No  others 
could  or  would  sign  with  him.  His  crews  were  in- 
variably put  on  board  in  the  stream  or  at  anchorage 
— never  at  the  dock.  Drunk  when  coerced  by  the 
boarding-masters  into  signing  the  ship's  articles, 
kept  drunk  until  delivery,  they  were  driven  or 
hoisted  up  the  side  like  animals — some  in  a  stupor 
from  drink  or  drugs,  some  tied  hand  and  foot,  strug- 
gling and  cursing  with  returning  reason. 

Equipped  thus,  the  Wilmington,  bound  for  Mel- 
bourne, discharged  her  tug  and  pilot  off  Sandy  Hook 
one  summer  morning,  and,  with  a  fresh  quartering 
wind  and  raising  sea,  headed  for  the  southeast.  The 
day  was  spent  in  getting  her  sail  on,  and  in  the 
"licking  into  shape"  of  the  men  as  fast  as  they 
recovered  their  senses.  Oaths  and  missiles  flew  about 
the  deck,  knock-downs  were  frequent,  and  by  eight 
bells  in  the  evening,  when  the  two  mates  chose  the 
watches, — much  as  boys  choose  sides  in  a  ball  game, 
— the  sailors  were  well  convinced  that  their  masters 
lived  aft. 

Three  men,  long-haired  fellows,  sprawling  on  the 
main-hatch,  helpless  from  seasickness,  were  left  fo 
the  last  in  the  choosing  and  then  hustled  into  the 
light  from  the  near-by  galley  door  to  be  examined. 
They  had  been  dragged  from  the  forecastle  at  the 
mate's  call  for  "  all  hands." 

"  CaH  yourselves  able  seamen,  I  suppose,"  he  said 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK       215 

with  an  oath,  as  he  glared  into  their  woebe- 
gone faces. 

"No,  pard,"  said  the  tallest  and  oldest  of  the 
three,  in  a  weak  voice.  "  We're  not  seamen ;  we 
don't  know  how  we  got  here,  neither." 

The  mate's  answer  was  a  fist-blow  under  the  ear 
that  sent  the  man  headlong  into  the  scuppers,  where 
he  lay  quiet. 

"  Say  *  sir '  when  you  speak  to  me,  you  bandy- 
legged farmers,"  he  snarled,  glowering  hard  at  the 
other  two,  as  they  leaned  against  the  water-tank. 
"  I'm  pard  to  none  of  ye." 

They  made  him  no  answer,  and  he  turned  away 
in  contempt.  "  Mr.  Tomm,"  he  called,  "  want  these 
Ethiopians  in  your  watch?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  the  second  mate ;  "  I  don't  want 
'em.  They're  no  more  use  'an  a  spare  pump." 

"  I'll  make  'em  useful  'fore  I'm  done  with  'em. 
Go  forrard,  you  three.  Get  the  bile  out  o'  yer  giz- 
zards 'fore  mornin',  'f  ye  value  yer  good  looks." 
He  delivered  a  vicious  kick  at  each  of  the  two  stand- 
ing men,  bawled  out,  "  Relieve  the  wheel  an'  lookout 
— that'll  do  the  watch,"  and  went  aft,  while  the  crew 
assisted  the  seasick  men  to  the  forecastle  and  into 
three  bedless  bunks — bedless,  because  sailors  must 
furnish  their  own,  and  these  men  had  been 
shanghaied. 

The  wind  died  away  during  the  night,  and  they 
awoke  in  the  morning  with  their  seasickness  gone  and 
appetites  ravenous.  Somber  and  ominous  was  their 
bearing  as  they  silently  ate  of  the  breakfast  in  the 
forecastle  and  stepped  out  on  deck  with  the  rest  in 
answer  to  the  mate's  roar:  "All  hands  spread  dun- 
nage." Having  no  dunnage  but  what  they  wore,  they 


216   WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

drew  off  toward  the  windlass  and  conferred  together 
while  chests  and  bags  were  dragged  out  on  deck  and 
overhauled  by  the  officers  for  whisky  and  sheath- 
knives.  What  they  found  of  the  former  they  pock- 
eted, and  of  the  latter,  tossed  overboard. 

"Where  are  the  canal-drivers?"  demanded  the 
chief  mate,  as  he  raised  his  head  from  the  last  chest. 
"  Where  are  our  seasick  gentlemen,  who  sleep  all 
night — what — what — "  he  added  in  a  stutter  of  sur- 
prise. 

He  was  looking  down  three  eight-inch  barrels  of 
three  heavy  Colt  revolvers,  cocked,  and  held  by  three 
scowling,  sunburnt  men,  each  of  whom  was  tucking 
with  disengaged  left  hand  the  corner  of  a  shirt  into 
a  waistband,  around  which  was  strapped  a  belt  full 
of  cartridges. 

"  Hands  up !  "  snapped  the  tall  man ;  "  hands  up, 
every  one  of  ye!  Up  with  'em — over  yer  heads. 
That's  right!"  The  pistols  wandered  around  the 
heads  of  the  crowd,  and  every  hand  was  elevated. 

"What's  this?  What  d'ye  mean?  Put  them  pis- 
tols down.  Give  'em  up.  Lay  aft,  there,  some  o'  ye, 
and  call  the  captain,"  blustered  the  mate,  with  his 
hands  held  high. 

Not  a  man  stirred  to  obey.  The  scowling  faces 
looked  deadly  in  earnest. 

"  Right  about,  face ! "  commanded  the  tall  man. 
"  March,  every  man — back  to  the  other  end  o'  the 
boat.  Laramie,  take  the  other  side  and  round  up 
anybody  ye  see.  Now,  gentlemen,  hurry." 

Away  went  the  protesting  procession,  and,  joined 
by  the  carpenter,  sail-maker,  donkey-man,  and  cook, 
"  rounded  up  "  from  their  sanctums  by  the  man  called 
Laramie,  it  had  reached  the  main-hatch  before  the 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK       217 

captain,  pacing  the  quarter-deck,  was  aware  of  the 
disturbance.  With  Captain  Belchior  to  think  was  to 
act.  Springing  to  the  cabin  skylight,  he  shouted: 
"  Steward,  bring  up  my  pistols.  Bear  a  hand. 
Lower  your  weapons,  you  scoundrels;  this  is  rank 
mutiny." 

A  pistol  spoke,  and  the  captain's  hat  left  his  head. 
"  There  goes  your  hat,"  said  a  voice ;  "  now,  for  a 
button."  Another  bullet  sped,  which  cut  from  his 
coat  the  button  nearest  his  heart.  "  Come  down 
from  there — come  down,"  said  the  voice  he  had  heard. 
"  Next  shot  goes  home.  Start  while  I  count  three. 
One — two — "  Captain  Belchior  descended  the  steps. 
"  Hands  up,  same  as  the  rest."  Up  went  the  cap- 
tain's hands ;  such  marksmanship  was  beyond  his 
philosophy.  "  'Pache,"  went  on  the  speaker,  "  go  up 
there  and  get  the  guns  he  wanted."  The  steward, 
with  two  bright  revolvers  in  his  hands,  was  met  at 
the  companion-hatch  by  a  man  with  but  one;  but 
that  one  was  so  big,  and  the  hand  which  held  it  was 
so  steady,  that  it  was  no  matter  of  surprise  that  he 
obeyed  the  terse  command,  "  Fork  over,  handles 
first."  The  captain's  nickel-plated  pistols  went  into 
the  pockets  of  'Pache's  coat,  and  the  white-faced 
steward,  poked  in  the  back  by  the  muzzle  of  that1 
big  firearm,  marched  to  the  main-deck  and  joined  the 
others. 

"  Go  down  that  place,  'Pache,  and  chase  out  any 
one  else  ye  find,"  called  the  leader  from  behind  the 
crowd.  "  Bring  'em  all  down  here." 

'Pache  descended,  and  reappeared  with  a  fright- 
ened cabin-boy,  whom,  with  the  man  at  the  wheel,  he 
drove  before  him  to  the  steps.  There  was  no  wind, 
and  the  ship  could  spare  the  helmsman. 


218   WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

"  Now,  then,  gentlemen,"  said  the  tall  leader,  "  I 
reckon  we're  all  here.  Keep  yer  hands  up.  We'll 
have  a  powwow.  Tache,  stay  up  there,  and  you, 
Laramie,  cover  'em  from  behind.  Plug  the  first  maq 
that  moves." 

He  mounted  the  steps  to  the  quarter-deck,  and, 
as  he  replaced  empty  shells  with  cartridges,  looked 
down  on  them  with  a  serene  smile  on  his  not  ill- 
looking  face.  His  voice,  except  when  raised  in  ac- 
cents of  command,  had  in  it  the  musical,  drawling, 
plaintive  tone  so  peculiar  to  the  native  Texan — and 
so  deceptive.  The  other  two,  younger  and  rougher 
men,  looked,  as  they  glanced  at  their  victims  through 
the  sights  of  the  pistols,  as  though  they  longed  for 
the  word  of  permission  to  riddle  the  ship's  company 
with  bullets. 

"You'll  pay  for  this,  you  infernal  cutthroats," 
spluttered  the  captain.  "  This  is  piracy." 

"  Don't  call  any  names  now,"  said  the  tall  man ; 
"  'tain't  healthy.  We  don't  want  to  hurt  ye,  but  I 
tell  ye  seriously,  ye  never  were  nearer  death  than 
ye  are  now.  It's  a  risky  thing,  and  a  foolish  thing, 
too,  gentlemen,  to  steal  three  American  citizens  with 
guns  under  their  shirts,  and  take  'em  so  far  from  land 
as  this.  Hangin'  's  the  fit  and  proper  punishment 
for  hoss-stealin',  but  man-stealin's  's  so  great  a  crime 
that  I'm  not  right  sure  what  the  punishment  is. 
Now,  we  don't  know  much  'bout  boats  and  ropes, — 
though  we  can  tie  a  hangman's  knot  when  neces- 
sary,— but  we  do  know  somethin'  'bout  guns  and 
human  natur* — here,  you,  come  'way  from  that 
fence." 

The  captain  was  edging  toward  a  belaying-pin ; 
but  he  noticed  that  the  speaker's  voice  had  lost  its 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK       219 

plaintiveness,  and  three  tubes  were  looking  at  him. 
He  drew  inboard,  and  the  leader  resumed: 

"  Now,  fust  thing,  who's  foreman  o'  this  outfit? 
Who's  boss?" 

"  I'm  captain  here." 

"You  are?  You  are  not.  I'm  captain.  Get  up 
on  that  shanty."  The  small  house  over  the  mizzen- 
hatch  was  indicated,  and  Captain  Belchior  climbed  it. 
The  tubes  were  still  looking  at  him. 

"  Now,  you,  there,  you  man  who  hit  me  last  night 
when  I  was  sick,  who  are  you,  and  what?  " 

"  Mate,  d you." 

"  Up  with  you,  and  don't  cuss.  You  did  a  cow- 
ardly thing,  pardner — an  unmanly  thing — low  down 
and  or'nary.  You  don't  deserve  to  live  any  longer; 
but  my  darter,  back  East  at  school,  thinks  I've 
killed  enough  men  for  one  lifetime,  and  mebbe  she's 
right — mebbe  she's  right.  Anyhow,  she  don't  like  it, 
and  that  lets  you  out — though  I  won't  answer  for 
'Pache  and  Laramie  when  my  back's  turned.  You 
kicked  'em  both.  But  I'll  just  return  the  blow." 
The  mate  had  but  straightened  up  on  top  of  the 
hatch-house  when  the  terrible  pistol  spat  out  another 
red  tongue,  and  his  yell  followed  the  report,  as  he 
clapped  his  hand  to  the  ear  through  which  the  bullet 
had  torn. 

"  Hands  up,  there ! "  thundered  the  shooter,  and 
the  mate  obeyed,  while  a  stream  of  blood  ran  down 
inside  his  shirt-collar. 

"  Any  more  bosses  here?  " 

The  second  mate  did  not  respond;  but  'Pache's 
pistol  sought  him  out,  and  under  its  influence,  and 
his  guttural,  "  I  know  you ;  get  up,"  he  followed  his 
superiors. 


220   WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

"Any  more?" 

A  manly-looking  fellow  stepped  out  of  the  group, 
and  said:  "You've  got  the  captain  and  two  mates. 
I'm  bo's'n  here,  and  yonder's  my  mate.  We're 
next,  but  we're  not  bosses  in  the  way  o'  bein* 
responsible  for  anything  that  has  happened  or  might 
happen  to  you.  We  b'long  forrard.  There's  no  call 
to  shoot  at  the  crew,  for  there's  not  a  man  among 
'em  but  what  'ud  be  glad  to  see  you  get  ashore,  and 
get  there  himself." 

"  Silence,  bo's'n,"  bawled  the  captain.  But  the 
voice  of  authority  seemed  pitifully  ludicrous  and  in- 
congruous, coupled  with  the  captain's  position  and 
attitude,  and  every  face  on  the  deck  wore  a  grin. 
The  leader  noticed  the  silent  merriment,  and  said: 

"  Laramie,  I  reckon  these  men'll  stand.  You  can 
come  up  here.  I'm  gettin'  'long  in  years,  and  kind 
o'  steadyin'  down,  but  I  s'pose  you  and  'Pache  want 
some  fun.  Start  yer  whistle  and  turn  loose." 

Up  the  steps  bounded  Laramie,  and,  with  a  ring- 
ing whoop  as  a  prelude,  began  whistling  a  clear, 
musical  trill,  while  'Pache,  growling  out,  "  Dance, 
dance,  ye  white-livered  coyotes,"  sent  a  bullet 
through  the  outer  edge  of  the  chief  mate's  boot-heel. 

"  Dance,"  repeated  Laramie  between  bars  of  the 
music.  Crack,  crack,  went  the  pistols,  while  bullets 
rattled  around  the  feet  of  the  men  on  the  hatch, 
and  Laramie's  whistle  rose  and  fell  on  the  soft 
morning  air. 

The  sun,  who  has  looked  on  many  scandalous 
sights,  looked  on  this,  and  hid  his  face  under  a  cloud, 
refusing  to  witness.  For  never  before  had  the  ethics 
of  shipboard  life  been  so  outrageously  violated.  A 
squat  captain  and  two  six-foot  officers,  nearly  black 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK       221 

in  the  face  from  rage  and  exertion,  with  hands 
clasped  over  their  heads,  hopped  and  skipped  around 
a  narrow  stage  to  the  accompaniment  of  pistol  re- 
ports harmoniously  disposed  among  the  notes  of  a 
whistled  tune,  while  bullets  grazed  their  feet,  and  an 
unkempt,  disfigured,  and  sore-headed  crew  looked  on 
and  chuckled.  When  the  mate,  weak  from  loss  of 
blood,  fell  and  rolled  to  the  deck,  the  leader  stopped 
the  entertainment. 

"  Now,  gentlemen,"  he  said  in  his  serious  voice,. 
"  I'm  called  Pecos  Tom,  and  I've  had  considerable 
experience  in  my  time,  but  this  is  my  fust  with  human 
creatur's  so  weak  and  thoughtless  that  they'll  drug 
and  steal  three  men  without  takin'  their  guns  away 
from  them.  And  so,  on  'count  o'  this  shiftless  im- 
providence, I  reckon  this  boat  will  have  to  turn 
round  and  go  back." 

They  bound  them,  rolled  and  kicked  the  two  mates 
to  the  rail,  lifted  the  captain  to  his  feet,  and  then 
the  leader  said  significantly: 

"  Give  the  right  and  proper  order  to  yer  men  to 
turn  this  boat  round." 

With  his  face  working  convulsively,  Captain 
Belchior  glanced  at  his  captors,  at  his  eager,  waiting 
crew,  at  the  wheel  without  a  helmsman,  at  a  darken- 
ing of  the  water  on  the  starboard  bow  to  the  south- 
ward, up  aloft  and  back  again  at  the  three  frowning 
muzzles  so  close  to  his  head. 

"  One  hand  to  the  wheel !  Square  in  main  and 
cro'-jack  yards!"  he  called.  He  was  conquered. 

With  a  hurrah  which  indicated  the  sincerity  of 
these  orders,  the  crew  sprang  to  obey  them,  and 
with  foreyards  braced  to  starboard  and  head-sheets 
flat,  the  ship  Wilmington  paid  off,  wore  around,  and 


222   WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK 

bringing  the  young  breeze  on  the  port  quarter, 
steadied  down  to  a  course  for  Sandy  Hook,  which 
the  captain,  with  hands  released,  but  still  under  the 
influence  of  those  threatening  pistols,  worked  out 
from  the  mate's  dead-reckoning.  Then  he  was  pin- 
ioned again,  but  allowed  to  pace  the  deck  and  watch 
his  ship,  while  the  two  officers  were  kept  under  the 
rail,  sometimes  stepped  upon  or  kicked,  and  often 
admonished  on  the  evil  of  their  ways. 

Early  passengers  on  the  East  River  ferry-boats 
were  treated  to  a  novel  sight  next  morning,  which 
they  appreciated  according  to  their  nautical  knowl- 
edge. A  lofty  ship,  with  skysails  and  royals  hang- 
ing in  the  buntlines,  and  jibs  tailing  ahead  like  flags, 
was  charging  up  the  harbor  before  a  humming  south- 
erly breeze,  followed  by  an  elbowing  crowd  of  puf- 
fing, whistling,  snub-nosed  tugs.  It  was  noticeable 
that  whenever  a  fresh  tug  arrived  alongside,  little 
white  clouds  left  her  quarter-deck,  and  that  tug 
suddenly  sheered  off  to  take  a  position  in  the  parade 
astern.  Abreast  of  Governor's  Island,  topgallant- 
halyards  were  let  go,  as  were  those  of  the  jibs;  but 
no  cluing  up  or  hauling  down  was  done,  nor  were 
any  men  seen  on  her  forecastle-deck  getting  ready 
lines  or  ground-tackle.  She  passed  the  Battery  and 
up  the  East  River,  craft  of  all  kinds  getting  out  of 
her  way, — for  it  was  obvious  that  something  was 
wrong  with  her, — until,  rounding  slowly  to  a  star- 
board wheel,  with  canvas  rattling  and  running-gear 
in  bights,  she  headed  straight  for  a  slip  partly  filled 
with  canal-boats.  Now  her  topsail-halyards  were 
let  go,  and  three  heavy  yards  came  down  by  the  run, 
breaking  across  the  caps ;  and  amid  a  grinding, 
creaking,  and  crashing  of  riven  timbers,  and  a  deaf- 


WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK       223 

ening  din  of  applauding  tug  whistles,  she  plowed  her 
way  into  the  nest  of  canal-boats  and  came  to  a  stop. 

Then  was  a  hejira.  Down  her  black  sides  by 
ropes  and  chain-plates,  to  the  wrecked  and  sinking 
canal-boats, — some  with  bags  or  chests,  some  with- 
out,— came  eager  men,  who  climbed  to  the  dock,  and 
answering  no  questions  of  the  gathering  crowd  of 
dock-loungers,  scattered  into  the  side-streets.  Then 
three  other  men  appeared  on  the  rail,  who  shook  their 
fists,  and  swore,  and  shouted  for  the  police,  calling 
particularly  for  the  apprehension  of  three  dark- 
faced,  long-haired  fellows  with  big  hats. 

In  the  light  of  later  developments  it  is  known 
that  the  police  responded,  and  with  the  assistance  of 
boarding-house  runners  gathered  in  that  day  nearly 
all  of  this  derelict  crew, — even  to  the  cautious 
boatswain, — who  were  promptly  and  severely  pun- 
ished for  mutiny  and  desertion.  But  the  later  de- 
velopments failed  to  show  that  the  three  dark-faced 
men  were  ever  seen  again. 


PRIMORDIAL 

/GASPING,  blue  in  the  face,  half  drowned,  the 
VJf  boy  was  flung  spitefully — as  though  the  sea 
scorned  so  poor  a  victory — high  on  the  sandy  beach, 
where  succeeding  shorter  waves  lapped  at  him  and 
retired.  The  encircling  life-buoy  was  large  enough 
to  permit  his  crouching  within  it.  Pillowing  his  head 
on  one  side  of  the  smooth  ring,  he  wailed  hoarsely 
for  an  interval,  then  slept — or  swooned.  The  tide 
went  down  the  beach,  the  typhoon  whirled  its  raging 
center  off  to  sea,  and  the  tropic  moon  shone  out, 
lighting  up,  between  the  beach  and  barrier  reef,  a 
heaving  stretch  of  oily  lagoon  on  which  appeared  and 
disappeared  hundreds  of  shark-fins  quickly  darting, 
and,  out  on  the  barrier  reef,  perched  high,  yet  still 
pounded  by  the  ocean  combers  raised  by  the  storm, 
a  fragment  of  ship's  stern  with  a  stump  of  mizzen- 
mast.  The  elevated  position  of  the  fragment,  the 
quickly  darting  dorsal  fins,  and  the  absence  of 
company  for  the  child  on  the  beach  spoke,  too 
plainly,  of  shipwreck,  useless  boats,  and  horrible 
death. 

Sharks  must  sleep  like  other  creatures,  and  they 
nestle  in  hollows  at  the  bottom  and  in  coral  caves, 
or  under  overhanging  ledges  of  the  reefs  which  at- 
tract them.  The  first  swimmer  may  pass  safely  by 
night,  seldom  the  second.  Like  she-wolves,  fiendish 
cats,  and  vicious  horses,  they  have  been  known  to 
show  mercy  to  children.  For  one  or  both  reasons, 
this  child  had  drifted  to  the  beach  unharmed. 


PRIMORDIAL  225 

Anywhere  but  on  a  bed  of  hot  sand  near  the 
equator  the  sleep  in  wet  clothing  of  a  three-year-old 
boy  might  have  been  fatal ;  but  salt  water  carries  its 
own  remedy  for  the  evils  of  its  moisture,  and  he 
wakened  at  daylight  with  strength  to  rise  and  cry  out 
his  protest  of  loneliness  and  misery.  His  childish 
mind  could  record  facts,  but  not  their  reason  or 
coherency.  He  was  in  a  new,  an  unknown  world. 
His  mother  had  filled  his  old;  where  was  she  now? 
Why  had  she  tied  him  into  that  thing  and  thrown 
him  from  her  into  the  darkness  and  wet?  Strange 
things  had  happened,  which  he  dimly  remembered. 
He  had  been  roused  from  his  sleep,  dressed,  and 
taken  out  of  doors  in  the  dark,  where  there  were 
frightful  crashing  noises,  shoutings  of  men,  and  cry- 
ing of  women  and  other  children.  He  had  cried  him- 
self, from  sympathy  and  terror,  until  his  mother 
had  thrown  him  away.  Had  he  been  bad?  Was  she 
angry?  And  after  that — what  was  the  rest?  He 
was  hungry  and  thirsty  now.  Why  did  she  not 
come?  He  would  go  and  find  her. 

With  the  life-buoy  hanging  about  his  waist — 
though  of  cork,  a  heavy  weight  for  him — he  toddled 
along  the  beach  to  where  it  ended  at  a  massive  ridge 
of  rock  that  came  out  of  the  wooded  country  inland 
and  extended  into  the  lagoon  as  an  impassable  point. 
He  called  the  chief  word  in  his  vocabulary  again  and 
again,  sobbing  between  calls.  She  was  not  there,  or 
she  would  have  come ;  so  he  went  back,  glancing  fear- 
fully at  the  dark  woods  of  palm  and  undergrowth. 
She  might  be  in  there,  but  he  was  afraid  to  look. 
His  little  feet  carried  him  a  full  half-mile  in  the 
other  direction  before  the  line  of  trees  and  bushes 
reached  so  close  to  the  beach  as  to  stop  him.  Her« 


226  PRIMORDIAL 

he  sat  down,  screaming  passionately  and  convulsively 
for  his  mother. 

Crying  is  an  expense  of  energy  which  must  be 
replenished  by  food.  When  he  could  cry  no  longer 
he  tugged  at  the  straps  and  strings  of  the  life-buoy. 
But  they  were  wet  and  hard,  his  little  fingers  were 
weak,  and  he  knew  nothing  of  knots  and  their  un- 
tying, so  it  was  well  on  toward  midday  before  he  suc- 
ceeded in  scrambling  out  of  the  meshes,  by  which 
time  he  was  famished,  feverish  with  thirst,  and  all 
but  sunstruck.  He  wandered  unsteadily  along  the 
beach,  falling  occasionally,  moaning  piteously 
through  his  parched,  open  lips ;  and  when  he  reached 
the  obstructing  ridge  of  rock,  turned  blindly  into 
the  bushes  at  its  base,  and  followed  it  until  he  came 
to  a  pool  of  water  formed  by  a  descending  spray 
from  above.  From  this,  on  his  hands  and  knees, 
he  drank  deeply,  burying  his  lips  as  would  an 
animal. 

Instinct  alone  had  guided  him  here,  away  from 
the  salt  pools  on  the  beach,  and  impelled  him  to 
drink  fearlessly.  It  was  instinct — a  familiar  phase 
in  a  child — that  induced  him  to  put  pebbles,  twigs, 
and  small  articles  in  his  mouth  until  he  found  what 
was  pleasant  to  his  taste  and  eatable — nuts  and  ber- 
ries ;  and  it  was  instinct,  the  most  ancient  and  deeply 
implanted, — the  lingering  index  of  an  arboreal  an- 
cestry,— that  now  taught  him  the  safety  and  com- 
fort of  these  woody  shades,  and,  as  night  came  on, 
prompted  him — as  it  prompts  a  drowning  man  to 
reach  high,  and  leads  a  creeping  babe  to  a  chair — to 
attempt  climbing  a  tree.  Failing  in  this  from  lack  of 
strength,  he  mounted  the  rocky  wall  a  few  feet,  and 
here,  on  a  narrow  ledge,  after  indulging  in  a  final 


PRIMORDIAL  227 

fit  of  crying,  he  slept  through  the  night,  not  com- 
fortably on  so  hard  a  bed,  but  soundly. 

During  the  day,  while  he  had  crawled  about  at  the 
foot  of  the  rocks,  wild  hogs,  marsupial  animals,  and 
wood-rats  had  examined  him  suspiciously  through  the 
undergrowth  and  decamped.  As  he  slept,  howling 
night-dogs  came  up,  sniffed  at  him  from  a  safe  dis- 
tance, and  scattered  from  his  vicinity.  He  would 
have  yielded  in  a  battle  with  a  pugnacious  kitten,  but 
these  creatures  recognized  a  prehistoric  foe,  and 
would  not  abide  with  him. 

A  week  passed  before  he  had  ceased  to  cry  and 
call  for  his  mother;  but  from  this  on  her  image  grew 
fainter,  and  in  a  month  the  infant  intelligence  had 
discarded  it.  He  ate  nuts  and  berries  as  he  found 
them,  drank  from  the  pool,  climbed  the  rocks  and 
strolled  in  the  wood,  played  on  the  beach  with  shells 
and  fragments  of  splintered  wreckage,  wore  out  his 
clothes,  and  in  another  month  was  naked;  for  when 
buttons  and  vital  parts  gave  way  and  a  garment 
fell,  he  let  it  lie.  But  he  needed  no  clothes,  even 
at  night ;  for  it  was  southern  summer,  and  the  north- 
east monsoon,  adding  its  humid  warmth  to  the  radiat- 
ing heat  from  the  sun-baked  rocks,  kept  the  tem- 
perature nearly  constant. 

He  learned  to  avoid  the  sun  at  midday,  and,  free 
from  contagion  and  motherly  coddling,  escaped 
many  of  the  complaints  which  torture  and  kill  chil- 
dren ;  yet  he  suffered  frightfully  from  colic  until  his 
stomach  was  accustomed  to  the  change  of  diet, 
by  which  time  he  was  emaciated  to  skin  and  bone. 
Then  a  reaction  set  in,  and  as  time  passed  he 
gained  healthy  flesh  and  muscle  on  the  nitrogenous 
food 


2£8  PRIMORDIAL 

Six  months  from  the  time  of  his  arrival,  another 
storm  swept  the  beach.  Pelted  by  the  warm  rain, 
terror-stricken,  he  cowered  under  the  rocks  through 
the  night,  and  at  daylight  peered  out  on  the  surf- 
washed  sands,  heaving  lagoon,  and  white  line  of 
breakers  on  the  barrier  reef.  The  short-lived 
typhoon  had  passed,  but  the  wind  still  blew  slantingly 
on  the  beach  with  force  enough  to  raise  a  turmoil  of 
crashing  sea  and  undertow  in  the  small  bay  formed 
by  the  extension  of  the  wall.  The  fragment  of 
ship's  stern  on  the  reef  had  disappeared ;  but  a  half- 
mile  to  the  right — directly  in  the  eye  of  the  wind — 
was  another  wreck,  and  somewhat  nearer,  on  the 
heaving  swell  of  the  lagoon,  a  black  spot,  which 
moved  and  approached.  It  came  down  before  the 
wind  and  resolved  into  a  closely  packed  group  of 
human  beings,  some  of  whom  tugged  frantically  at 
the  oars  of  the  water-logged  boat  which  held  them, 
others  of  whom  as  frantically  bailed  with  caps  and 
hands.  Escorting  the  boat  was  a  fleet  of  dorsal  fins, 
and  erect  in  the  stern-sheets  was  a  white-faced 
woman,  holding  a  child  in  one  arm  while  she  endeav- 
ored to  remove  a  circular  life-buoy  from  around  her 
waist.  At  first  heading  straight  for  the  part  of  the 
beach  where  the  open-eyed  boy  was  watching,  the 
boat  now  changed  its  course  and  by  desperate  exer- 
tion of  the  rowers  reached  a  position  from  which  it 
could  drift  to  leeward  of  the  point  and  its  deadly 
maelstrom.  With  rowers  bailing  and  the  white-faced 
woman  seated,  fastening  the  child  in  the  life-buoy, 
the  boat,  gunwale-deep,  and  the  gruesome  guard  of 
sharks  drifted  out  of  sight  behind  the  point.  The 
boy  had  not  understood;  but  he  had  seen  his  kind, 
and  from  association  of  ideas  appreciated  again  his 


PRIMORDIAL  S«9 

loneliness — crying  and  wailing  for  a  week;  but  not 
for  his  mother :  he  had  forgotten  her. 

With  the  change  of  the  monsoon  came  a  lowering 
of  the  temperature.  Naked  and  shelterless,  he 
barely  survived  the  first  winter,  tropical  though  it 
was.  But  the  second  found  him  inured  to  the  sur- 
roundings— hardy  and  strong.  When  able  to,  he 
climbed  trees  and  found  birds'  eggs,  which  he  acci- 
dentally broke  and  naturally  ate.  It  was  a  pleasant 
relief  from  a  purely  vegetable  diet,  and  he  became 
a  proficient  egg-thief ;  then  the  birds  built  their  nests 
beyond  his  reach.  Once  he  was  savagely  pecked  by 
an  angry  brush-turkey  and  forced  to  defend  himself. 
It  aroused  a  combativeness  and  destructiveness  that 
had  lain  dormant  in  his  nature. 

Children  the  world  over  epitomize  in  their  habits 
and  thoughts  the  infancy  of  the  human  race.  Their 
morals  and  modesty,  as  well  as  their  games,  are  those 
of  paleolithic  man,  and  they  are  as  remorsely  cruel. 
From  the  day  of  his  fracas  with  the  turkey  he  was 
a  hunter — of  grubs,  insects,  and  young  birds ;  but 
only  to  kill,  maim,  or  torture;  he  did  not  eat  them, 
because  hunger  was  satisfied,  and  he  possessed  a 
child's  dislike  of  radical  change. 

Deprived  of  friction  with  other  minds,  he  was 
slower  than  his  social  prototype  in  the  reproduction 
of  the  epochs.  At  a  stage  when  most  boys  are  pass- 
ing through  the  age  of  stone,  with  its  marbles,  caves, 
and  slings,  he  was  yet  in  the  earlier  arboreal  period 
— a  climber — and  would  swing  from  branch  to  branch 
with  almost  the  agility  of  an  ape. 

On  fine,  sunny  days,  influenced  by  the  weather,  he 
would  laugh  and  shout  hilariously;  a  gloomy  sky 
made  him  morose.  When  hurt,  or  angered  by  dis- 


230  PRIMORDIAL 

appointment  in  the  hunt,  he  would  cry  out  inarticu- 
lately ;  but  having  no  use  for  language,  did  not  talk, 
hence  did  not  think,  as  the  term  is  understood.  His 
mind  received  the  impressions  of  his  senses,  and  could 
fear,  hate,  and  remember,  but  knew  nothing  of  love, 
for  nothing  lovable  appealed  to  it.  He  could  hardly 
reason,  as  yet ;  his  shadow  puzzled,  angered,  and  an- 
noyed him  until  he  noticed  its  concomitance  with  the 
sun,  when  he  reversed  cause  and  effect,  considered  it 
a  beneficent,  mysterious  Something  that  had  life,  and 
endeavored  by  gesture  and  grimace  to  placate  and 
please  it.  It  was  his  beginning  of  religion. 

His  dreams  were  often  horrible.  Strange  shapes, 
immense  snakes  and  reptiles,  and  nondescript  mon- 
sters made  up  of  prehistoric  legs,  teeth,  and  heads, 
afflicted  his  sleep.  He  had  never  seen  them ;  they 
were  an  inheritance,  but  as  real  to  him  as  the  sea 
and  sky,  the  wind  and  rain. 

Every  six  months,  at  the  breaking  up  of  the  mon- 
soon, would  come  squalls  and  typhoons — full  of  men- 
ace, for  his  kindly,  protecting  shadow  then  deserted 
him.  One  day,  when  about  ten  years  old,  during  a 
wild  burst  of  storm,  he  fled  down  the  beach  in  an 
agony  of  terror;  for,  considering  all  that  moved  as 
alive,  he  thought  that  the  crashing  sea  and  swaying, 
falling  trees  were  attacking  him,  and,  half  buried  in 
the  sand  near  the  bushes,  found  the  forgotten  life- 
buoy, stained  and  weather-worn.  It  was  quiescent, 
and  new  to  him, — like  nothing  he  had  seen, — and  he 
clung  to  it.  At  that  moment  the  sun  appeared,  and 
in  a  short  time  the  storm  had  passed.  He  carried 
the  life-buoy  back  with  him — spurning  and  threaten- 
ing his  delinquent  shadow — and  looked  for  a  place  to 
put  it,  deciding  at  last  on  a  small  cave  in  the  rocky 


PRIMORDIAL  231 

wall  near  to  the  pool.  In  a  corner  of  this  he  installed 
the  ring  of  cork  and  canvas,  and  remained  by  it, 
patting  and  caressing  it.  When  it  rained  again,  he 
appreciated,  for  the  first  time,  the  comfort  of  shelter, 
and  became  a  cave-dweller,  with  a  new  god — a  fetish, 
to  which  he  transferred  his  allegiance  and  obeisance 
because  more  powerful  than  his  shadow. 

From  correlation  of  instincts,  he  now  entered  the 
age  of  stone.  He  no  longer  played  with  shells  and 
sticks,  but  with  pebbles,  which  he  gathered,  hoarded 
in  piles,  and  threw  at  marks, — to  be  gathered  again, 
— seldom  entering  the  woods  but  for  food  and  the 
relaxation  of  the  hunt.  But  with  his  change  of  habits 
came  a  lessening  of  his  cruelty  to  defenseless  crea- 
tures,— not  that  he  felt  pity:  he  merely  found  no 
more  amusement  in  killing  and  tormenting, — and  in 
time  he  transferred  his  antagonism  to  the  sharks  in 
the  lagoon,  their  dorsal  fins  making  famous  targets 
for  his  pebbles.  He  needed  no  experience  with  these 
pirates  to  teach  him  to  fear  and  hate  them,  and  when 
he  bathed — which  habit  he  acquired  as  a  relief  from 
the  heat,  and  indulged  daily — he  chose  a  pool  near 
the  rocks  that  filled  at  high  tide,  and  in  it  learned 
to  swim,  paddling  like  a  dog. 

And  so  the  boy,  blue-eyed  and  fair  at  the  begin- 
ning, grew  to  early  manhood,  as  handsome  an  animal 
as  the  world  contains,  tall,  straight,  and  clean-fea- 
tured with  steady  eyes  wide  apart  and  skin — the 
color  of  old  copper  from  sun  and  wind — covered  with 
a  fine,  soft  down,  which  at  the  age  of  sixteen 
had  not  yet  thickened  on  his  face  to  beard  and 
mustache,  though  his  wavy  brown  hair  reached  to 
his  shoulders. 

At  this  period  a  turning-point  appeared  in  his  life 


282  PRIMORDIAL 

which  gave  an  impetus  to  his  almost  stagnant  mental 
development — his  food-supply  diminished  and  his 
pebble-supply  gave  out  completely,  forcing  him  to 
wander.  Pebble-throwing  was  his  only  amusement; 
pebble-gathering  his  only  labor;  eating  was  neither. 
He  browsed  and  nibbled  at  all  hours  of  the  day,  never 
knowing  the  sensation  of  a  full  stomach,  and,  until 
lately,  of  an  empty  one.  To  this,  perhaps,  may  be 
ascribed  his  wonderful  immunity  from  sickness.  In 
collecting  pebbles  his  method  was  to  carry  as  many 
as  his  hands  would  hold  to  a  pile  on  the  beach  and 
go  back  for  more ;  and  in  the  six  years  of  his  stone- 
throwing  he  had  found  and  thrown  at  the  sharks 
every  stone  as  small  as  his  fist,  within  a  sector  formed 
by  the  beach  and  the  rocky  wall  to  an  equal  distance 
inland.  The  fruits,  nuts,  edible  roots,  and  grasses 
growing  in  this  area  had  hitherto  supported  him,  but 
would  no  longer,  owing  to  a  drought  of  the  previous 
year,  which,  luckily,  had  not  affected  his  water- 
supply. 

One  morning,  trembling  with  excitement,  eye  and 
ear  on  the  alert, — as  a  high-spirited  horse  enters  a 
strange  pasture, — he  ventured  past  the  junction  of 
bush  and  tide-mark,  and  down  the  unknown  beach  be- 
yond. He  filled  his  hands  with  the  first  pebbles  he 
found,  but  noticing  the  plentiful  supply  on  the 
ground  ahead  of  him,  dropped  them  and  went  on; 
there  were  other  things  to  interest  him.  A  broad 
stretch  of  undulating,  scantily  wooded  country 
reached  inland  from  the  convex  beach  of  sand  and 
shells  to  where  it  met  the  receding  line  of  forest  and 
bush  behind  him ;  and  far  away  to  his  right,  darting 
back  and  forth  among  stray  bushes  and  sand-hum- 
mocks, were  small  creatures — strange,  unlike  those 


PRIMORDIAL  233 

he  knew,  but  in  regard  to  which  he  felt  curiosity 
rather  than  fear. 

He  traveled  around  the  circle  of  beach,  and  no- 
ticed that  the  moving  creatures  fled  at  his  approach. 
They  were  wild  hogs,  hunted  of  men  since  hunting 
began.  He  entered  the  forest  about  midday,  and 
emerging,  found  himself  on  a  pebbly  beach  similar 
to  his  own,  and  facing  a  continuation  of  the  rocky 
wall,  which,  like  the  other  end,  dipped  into  the  lagoon 
and  prevented  further  progress.  He  was  thirsty,  and 
found  a  pool  near  the  rocks ;  hungry,  and  he  ate  of 
nuts  and  berries  which  he  recognized.  Puzzled  by 
the  reversal  of  perspective  and  the  similarity  of  con- 
ditions, he  proceeded  along  the  wall,  dimly  expecting 
to  find  his  cave.  But  none  appeared,  and,  mystified, 
— somewhat  frightened, — he  plunged  into  the  wood, 
keeping  close  to  the  wall  and  looking  sharply  about 
him.  Like  an  exiled  cat  or  a  carrier-pigeon,  he  was 
making  a  straight  line  for  home,  but  did  not  know  it. 

His  progress  was  slow,  for  boulders,  stumps,  and 
rising  ground  impeded  him.  Darkness  descended 
when  he  was  but  half-way  home  and  nearly  on  a  level 
with  the  top  of  the  wall.  Forced  to  stop,  he  threw 
himself  down,  exhausted,  yet  nervous  and  wakeful, 
as  any  other  animal  in  a  strange  place.  But  the 
familiar  moon  came  out,  shining  through  the  foliage, 
and  this  soothed  him  into  a  light  slumber. 

He  was  wakened  by  a  sound  near  by  that  he  had 
heard  all  his  life  at  a  distance — a  wild  chorus  of 
barking.  It  was  coming  his  way,  and  he  crouched 
and  waited,  grasping  a  stone  in  each  hand.  The 
barking,  interspersed  soon  with  wheezing  squeals, 
grew  painfully  loud,  and  culminated  in  vengeful 
growls,  as  a  young  pig  sprang  into  a  patch  of  moon- 


234  PRIMORDIAL 

light,  with  a  dozen  dingoes — night-dogs — at  its  heels. 
In  the  excitement  of  pursuit  they  did  not  notice  the 
crouching  boy,  but  pounced  on  the  pig,  tore  at  it, 
snapping  and  snarling  at  one  another,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  the  meal  was  over. 

Frozen  with  terror  at  this  strange  sight,  the  boy 
remained  quiet  until  the  brutes  began  sniffing  and 
turning  in  his  direction;  then  he  stood  erect,  and 
giving  vent  to  a  scream  which  rang  through  the 
forest,  hurled  the  two  stones  with  all  his  strength 
straight  at  the  nearest.  He  was  a  good  marksman. 
Agonized  yelps  followed  the  impact  of  stone  and 
hide;  two  dogs  rolled  over  and  over,  then,  gaining 
their  feet,  sped  after  their  fleeing  companions,  while 
the  boy  sat  down,  trembling  in  every  limb — com- 
pletely unnerved.  Yet  he  knew  that  he  was  the  cause 
of  their  flight.  With  a  stone  in  each  hand,  he 
watched  and  waited  until  daylight,  then  arose  and 
went  on  homeward,  with  a  new  and  intense  emotion — 
not  fear  of  the  dingoes :  he  was  the  superior  animal, 
and  knew  it — not  pity  for  the  pig:  he  had  not  devel- 
oped to  the  pitying  stage.  He  was  possessed  by  a 
strong,  instinctive  desire  to  emulate  the  dogs  and 
eat  of  animal  food.  It  did  not  come  of  his  empty 
stomach ;  he  felt  it  after  he  had  satisfied  his  hunger 
on  the  way ;  and  as  he  plodded  down  tne  slope  toward 
his  cave,  gripped  his  missiles  fiercely  and  watched 
sharply  for  small  animals — preferably  pigs. 

But  no  pigs  appeared.  He  reached  his  cave,  and 
slept  all  day  and  the  following  night,  waking  in  the 
morning  hungry,  and  with  the  memory  of  his  late 
adventure  strong  in  his  mind.  He  picked  up  the  two 
stones  he  had  brought  home,  and  started  down  the 
beach,  but  stopped,  came  back,  and  turned  inland  by 


PRIMORDIAL  235 

the  wall ;  then  he  halted  again  and  retraced  his  steps 
— puzzled.  He  pondered  awhile, — if  his  mental  proc- 
esses may  be  so  termed, — then  walked  slowly  down 
the  beach,  entered  the  bush  a  short  distance,  turned 
again  to  the  wall,  and  gained  his  starting-point. 
Then  he  reversed  the  trip,  and  coming  back  by  way 
of  the  beach,  struck  inland  with  a  clear  and  satisfied 
face.  He  had  solved  the  problem — a  new  and  hard 
one  for  him — that  of  two  roads  to  a  distant  place; 
and  he  had  chosen  the  shortest. 

In  a  few  hours  he  reached  his  late  camping-spot, 
and  crouched  to  the  earth,  listening  for  barking  and 
squealing — for  a  pig  to  be  chased  his  way.  But 
dingoes  hunt  only  by  night,  and  unmolested  pigs  do 
not  squeal.  Impatient  at  last,  he  went  on  through 
the  forest  in  the  direction  from  which  they  had  come, 
until  he  reached  the  open  country  where  he  had  first 
seen  them ;  and  here,  rooting  under  the  bushes  at  the 
margin  of  the  wood,  he  discovered  a  family — a  mother 
and  four  young  ones — which  had  possibly  contained 
the  victim  of  the  dogs.  He  stalked  them  slowly  and 
cautiously,  keeping  bushes  between  himself  and  them, 
but  was  seen  by  the  mother  when  about  twenty  yards 
away.  She  sniffed  suspiciously,  then,  with  a  warning 
grunt  and  a  scattering  of  dust  and  twigs,  scurried 
into  the  woods,  with  her  brood — all  but  one — in  her 
wake. 

A  frightened  pig  is  as  easy  a  target  as  a  darting 
dorsal  fin,  and  a  fat  suckling  lay  kicking  convulsively 
on  the  ground.  He  hurried  up,  the  hunting  gleam 
bright  in  his  eyes,  and  hurled  the  second  stone  at  the 
little  animal.  It  still  kicked,  and  he  picked  up  the 
first  stone,  thinking  it  might  be  more  potent  to  kill, 
and  crashed  it  down  on  the  unfortunate  pig's  head. 


236  PRIMORDIAL 

It  glanced  from  the  head  to  the  other  stone  and  struck 
a  spark — which  he  noticed. 

The  pig  now  lay  still,  and  satisfied  that  he  had 
killed  it,  he  tried  to  repeat  the  carom,  but  failed. 
Yet  the  spark  had  interested  him, — he  wanted  to  see 
it  again, — and  it  was  only  after,  he  had  reduced  the 
pig's  head  to  a  pulp  that  he  became  disgusted  and 
angrily  threw  the  stone  in  his  hand  at  the  one  on 
the  ground.  The  resulting  spark  delighted  him.  He 
repeated  the  experiment  again  and  again,  each  con- 
cussion drawing  a  spark,  and  finally  used  one  stone 
as  a  hammer  on  the  other,  with  the  same  result — to 
him,  a  bright  and  pretty  thing,  very  small,  but  alive, 
which  came  from  either  of  the  dead  stones.  Tired  of 
the  play  at  last,  he  turned  to  the  pig — the  food  that 
he  had  yearned  for. 

It  was  well  for  him,  perhaps,  that  the  initial  taste 
of  bristle  and  fat  prevented  his  taking  the  second 
mouthful.  Slightly  nauseated,  he  dropped  the  car- 
cass and  turned  to  go,  but  immediately  bounded  in 
the  air  with  a  howl  of  pain.  His  left  foot  was  red 
and  smarting.  Once  he  had  cut  it  on  a  sharp  shell, 
and  now  searched  for  a  wound,  but  found  none. 
Rubbing  increased  the  pain.  Looking  on  the  ground 
for  the  cause,  he  discovered  a  wavering,  widening 
ring  of  strange  appearance,  and  within  it  a  blackened 
surface  on  which  rested  the  two  stones.  They  were 
dry  flint  nodules,  and  he  had  set  fire  to  the  grass  with 
the  sparks. 

Considering  this  to  be  a  new  animal  that  had  at- 
tacked him,  he  pelted  it  with  stones,  dancing  around 
it  in  a  rage  and  shouting  hoarsely.  He  might  have 
conquered  the  fire  and  never  invoked  it  again,  had  not 
the  supply  of  stones  in  the  vicinity  given  out,  or 


PRIMORDIAL  237 

those  he  had  used  grown  too  hot  to  handle;  for  he 
stayed  the  advancing  flame  at  one  side.  But  the 
other  side  was  creeping  on,  and  he  used  dry  branches, 
dropping  to  his  hands  and  knees  to  pound  the  fire, 
fighting  bravely,  crying  out  with  pain  as  he  burned 
himself,  and  forced  to  drop  stick  after  stick  which 
caught  fire.  Soon  it  grew  too  hot  to  remain  near, 
and  he  stood  off  and  launched  fuel  at  it,  which  re- 
sulted in  a  fair-sized  bonfire;  then,  in  desperation 
and  fear,  he  hurled  the  dead  pig — the  cause  of  the 
trouble — at  the  terrible  monster,  and  fled. 

Looking  back  through  the  trees  to  see  if  he  was 
pursued,  he  noticed  that  the  strange  enemy  had  taken 
new  shape  and  color;  it  was  reaching  up  into  the 
air,  black  and  cloud-like.  Frightened,  tired  mentally 
and  physically,  and  suffering  keenly  from  his  burns, 
he  turned  his  back  on  the  half-solved  problem  and 
endeavored  to  satisfy  his  hunger.  But  he  was  on 
strange  territory  and  found  little  of  his  accustomed 
food;  the  chafing  and  abrading  contact  of  bushes 
and  twigs  irritated  his  sore  spots,  preventing  investi- 
gation and  rapid  progress,  and  at  the  end  of  three 
hours,  still  hungry,  and  exasperated  by  his  torment 
into  a  reckless,  fighting  mood,  he  picked  up  stones 
and  returned  savagely  to  battle  again  with  the  enemy. 
But  the  enemy  was  dead.  The  grass  had  burned  to 
where  it  met  dry  earth,  and  the  central  fire  was  now 
a  black-and-white  pile  of  still  warm  ashes,  on  which 
lay  the  charred  and  denuded  pig,  giving  forth  a 
savory  odor.  Cautiously  approaching,  he  studied  the 
situation,  then,  yielding  to  an  irresistible  impulse, 
seized  the  pig  and  ran  through  the  woods  to  the  wall 
and  down  to  his  cave. 

Two  hours  later  he  was  writhing  on  the  ground 


238  PRIMORDIAL 

with  a  violent  stomach-ache.  It  was  forty-eight  hours 
after  when  he  ate  again,  and  then  of  his  old  food — 
nuts  and  berries.  But  the  craving  returned  in  a 
week,  and  he  again  killed  a  pig,  but  was  compelled 
to  forego  eating  it  for  lack  of  fire. 

Though  he  had  discovered  fire  and  cooked  food, 
his  only  conception  of  the  process,  so  far,  was  that 
the  mysterious  enemy  was  too  powerful  for  him  to 
kill,  that  it  would  eat  sticks  and  grass  but  did  not 
like  stones,  and  that  a  dead  pig  could  kill  it,  and 
in  the  conflict  be  made  eatable.  It  was  only  after 
months  of  playing  with  flints  and  sparks  that  he 
recognized  the  part  borne  by  dry  grass  or  moss,  and 
that  with  these  he  could  create  it  at  will ;  that  a  dead 
pig,  though  always  improved  by  the  effort,  could  not 
be  depended  upon  to  kill  it  unless  the  enemy  was 
young  and  small, — when  stones  would  answer  as  well, 
— and  that  he  could  always  kill  it  himself  by  depriv- 
ing it  of  food. 

It  is  hardly  possible  that  animal  food  produced  a 
direct  effect  on  his  mind ;  but  the  effort  to  obtain 
it  certainly  did,  arousing  his  torpid  faculties  to  a 
keener  activity.  He  grasped  the  relation  of  cause 
to  effect — seeing  one,  he  looked  for  the  other.  He 
noticed  resemblances  and  soon  realized  the  common 
attributes  of  fire  and  the  sun ;  and,  as  his  fetish  was 
not  always  good  to  him, — the  sun  and  storm  seeming 
to  follow  their  own  sweet  will  in  spite  of  his  un- 
spoken faith  in  the  life-buoy, — he  again  became  an 
apostate,  transferring  his  allegiance  to  the  sun,  of 
which  the  friendly  fire  was  evidently  a  part  or  sym- 
bol. He  did  not  discard  his  dethroned  fetish  com- 
pletely; he  still  kept  it  in  his  cave  to  punch,  kick, 
and  revile  by  gestures  and  growls  at  times  when 


PRIMORDIAL  239 

the  sun  was  hidden,  retaining  this  habit  from  his 
former  faith.  The  life-buoy  was  now  his  devil — a 
symbol  of  evil,  or  what  was  the  same  to  him — dis- 
comfort; for  he  had  advanced  in  religious  thought 
to  a  point  where  he  needed  one.  Every  morning 
when  the  sun  shone,  and  at  its  reappearance  after 
the  rain,  he  prostrated  himself  in  a  patch  of  sunlight 
— this  and  the  abuse  of  the  life-buoy  becoming  cere- 
monies in  his  fire-worship. 

In  time  he  became  such  a  menace  to  the  hogs  that 
they  climbed  the  wall  at  the  high  ground  and  disap- 
peared in  the  country  beyond.  And  after  them  went 
the  cowardly  dingoes  that  preyed  on  their  young. 
Rodent  animals,  more  difficult  to  hunt,  and  a  species 
of  small  kangaroo  furnished  him  occupation  and  food 
until  they,  too,  emigrated,  when  he  was  forced  to 
follow;  he  was  now  a  carnivorous  animal,  no  longer 
satisfied  with  vegetable  food. 

The  longer  hunts  brought  with  them  a  difficulty 
which  spurred  him  to  further  invention.  He  could 
carry  only  as  many  stones  as  his  hands  would  hold, 
and  often  found  himself  far  from  his  base  of  supply, 
with  game  in  sight,  and  without  means  to  kill  it. 
The  pouch  in  which  the  mother  kangaroo  carried  her 
young  suggested  to  his  mind  a  like  contrivance  for 
carrying  stones.  Since  he  had  cut  his  foot  on  the 
shell,  he  had  known  the  potency  of  a  sharp  edge,  but 
not  until  he  needed  to  remove  charred  and  useless 
flesh  from  his  food  did  he  appreciate  the  utility.  It 
was  an  easy  advance  for  him  roughly  to  skin  a  female 
kangaroo  and  wear  the  garment  for  the  pocket's 
sake.  But  it  chafed  and  irritated  him;  so,  cutting 
off  the  troublesome  parts  little  by  little,  he  finally; 
reduced  it  to  a  girdle  which  held  only  the  pouch. 


340  PRIMORDIAL 

And  in  this  receptacle  he  carried  stones  for  throwing 
and  shells  for  cutting,  his  expeditions  now  extending 
for  miles  beyond  the  wall,  and  only  limited  by  the 
necessity  of  returning  for  water,  of  which,  in  the 
limestone  rock,  there  were  plenty  of  pools  and  trick- 
ling springs. 

He  learned  that  no  stones  but  the  dry  flints  he 
found  close  to  the  wall  would  strike  sparks ;  but, 
careless,  improvident,  petulant  child  of  nature  that 
he  was,  he  exhausted  the  supply,  and  one  day,  too 
indolent  to  search  his  hunting-tracts  to  regain  the 
necessary  two,  he  endeavored  to  draw  fire  from  a  pair 
that  he  dug  from  the  moist  earth,  and  failing,  threw 
them  with  all  his  strength  at  the  rocky  wall.  One  of 
them  shivered  to  irregular  pieces,  the  other  parted 
with  a  flake — a  six-inch  dagger-like  fragment,  flat 
on  one  side,  convex  on  the  other,  with  sharp  edges 
that  met  in  a  point  at  one  end,  and  at  the  other, 
where  lay  the  cone  of  percussion,  rounded  into  a 
roughly  cylindrical  shape,  convenient  for  handling. 
Though  small,  no  flint-chipping  savage  of  the  stone 
age  ever  made  a  better  knife,  and  he  was  quick  to 
appreciate  its  superiority  to  a  shell. 

Like  most  discoveries  and  inventions  that  have 
advanced  the  human  race,  his  were,  in  the  main, 
accidental;  yet  he  could  now  reason  from  the  acci- 
dental to  the  analogous.  Idly  swinging  his  girdle 
around  his  head,  one  day,  and  letting  go,  he  was 
surprised  at  the  distance  to  which,  with  little  effort, 
he  could  send  the  stone-laden  pouch.  Months  of 
puzzled  experimenting  produced  a  sling — at  first  with 
a  thong  of  hide  fast  to  each  stone,  later  with  the 
double  thong  and  pouch  that  small  boys  and  savages 
have  not  yet  improved  upon. 


PRIMORDIAL  241 

To  this  centrifugal  force,  which  he  could  use  with- 
out wholly  understanding,  he  added  the  factor  of  a 
rigid  radius — a  handle  to  a  heavy  stone;  for  only 
with  this  contrivance  could  he  break  large  flints 
and  open  cocoanuts — an  article  of  good  food  that 
he  had  passed  by  all  his  life  and  wondered  at  until 
his  knife  had  divided  a  green  one.  His  experiments 
in  this  line  resulted  in  a  heavy,  sharp-edged,  solid- 
backed  flint,  firmly  bound  with  thongs  to  the  end  of 
a  stick, — a  rude  tomahawk, — convenient  for  the  coup 
de  grace. 

The  ease  with  which  he  could  send  a  heavy  stone 
out  of  sight,  or  bury  a  smaller  one  in  the  side  of  a  hog 
at  short  range,  was  wonderful  to  him;  but  he  was 
twenty  years  old  before,  by  daily  practice  with  his 
sling,  he  brought  his  marksmanship  up  to  that  of  his 
unaided  hand,  equal  to  which,  at  an  earlier  date,  was 
his  skill  at  hatchet-throwing.  He  could  outrun  and 
tomahawk  the  fastest  hog,  could  bring  down  with  his 
sling  a  kangaroo  on  the  jump  or  a  pigeon  on  the 
wing,  could  smell  and  distinguish  game  to  windward 
with  the  keen  scent  of  a  hound,  and  became  so  formi- 
dable an  enemy  of  his  troublesome  rivals,  the  dingoes, 
— whose  flesh  he  disapproved  of, — and  the  sharks  in 
the  lagoon,  that  the  one  deserted  his  hunting-ground 
and  the  other  seldom  left  the  reef. 

He  broke  or  lost  one  knife  and  hatchet  after  an- 
other, and  learned,  in  making  new  ones,  that  he  could 
chip  them  into  improved  shape  when  freshly  dug, 
and  that  he  must  allow  them  to  dry  before  using — 
when  they  were  also  available  for  striking  fire.  He 
had  enlarged  his  pocket,  making  a  better  one  of  a 
whole  skin  by  roughly  sewing  the  edges  together  with 
thongs,  first  curing  the  hide  by  soaking  in  salt  water 


24£  PRIMORDIAL 

and  scraping  with  his  knife.  His  food-list  now  em- 
braced shellfish  and  birds,  wild  yams,  breadfruit,  and 
cocoanuts,  which,  even  the  latter,  he  cooked  before 
eating  and  prepared  before  cooking.  Pushed  by  an 
ever-present  healthy  appetite,  and  helped  by  inher- 
ited instincts  based  on  the  habits  and  knowledge  of 
a  long  line  of  civilized  ancestry,  he  had  advanced  in 
four  years  from  an  indolent,  mindless  existence  to 
a  plane  of  fearless,  reasoning  activity.  He  was  a 
hunter  of  prowess,  master  of  his  surroundings,  lord 
over  all  creatures  he  had  seen,  and,  though  still  a 
cave-dweller  when  at  home,  in  a  fair  way  to  become 
a  hut-builder,  herdsman,  and  agriculturist ;  for  he 
had  arranged  boughs  to  shelter  him  from  the  rain 
when  hunting,  had  attempted  to  block  up  the  pass 
over  the  wall  to  prevent  the  further  wanderings  of 
a  herd  of  hogs  that  he  had  pursued,  and  had  lately 
become  interested  in  the  sprouting  of  nuts  and  seeds 
and  the  encroachments  and  changes  of  the  vegetation. 
Yet  he  lacked  speech,  and  did  his  thinking  without 
words.  The  deficiency  was  not  accompanied  by  the 
unpleasant  twisted  features  and  grimacing  of  mutes, 
which  comes  of  conscious  effort  to  communicate.  His 
features  were  smooth  and  regular,  his  mouth  sym- 
metrical and  firm,  and  his  clear  blue  eye  thoughtful 
and  intent  as  that  of  a  student;  for  he  had  studied 
and  thought.  He  would  smile  and  frown,  laugh  and 
shout,  growl  and  whine,  the  pitch  and  timbre  of  his 
inarticulate  utterance  indicating  the  emotion  which 
prompted  it  to  about  the  same  degree  as  does  an 
intelligent  dog's  language  to  his  master.  But  dogs 
and  other  social  animals  converse  in  a  speech  beyond 
human  ken ;  and  in  this  respect  he  was  their  inferior, 
for  he  had  not  yet  known  the  need  of  language,  and 


PRIMORDIAL  243 

did  not,  until,  one  day,  in  a  section  of  his  domain 
that  he  had  never  visited  before, — because  game 
avoided  it, — down  by  the  sea  on  the  side  of  the 
wall  opposite  to  his  cave,  he  met  a  creature  like 
himself. 

He  had  come  down  the  wooded  slope  on  the  steady 
jog-trot  he  assumed  when  traveling,  tomahawk  in 
hand,  careless,  confident,  and  happy  because  of  the 
bright  sunshine  and  his  lately  appeased  hunger,  and, 
as  he  bounded  on  to  the  beach  with  a  joyous  whoop, 
was  startled  by  an  answering  scream. 

Mingled  with  the  frightful  monsters  in  the  dreams 
of  his  childhood  had  been  transient  glimpses  of  a  kind, 
placid  face  that  he  seemed  to  know — a  face  that  bent 
over  him  lovingly  and  kissed  him.  These  were  sub- 
conscious memories  of  his  mother,  which  lasted  long 
after  he  had  forgotten  her.  As  he  neared  manhood, 
strange  yearnings  had  come  to  him — a  dreary  loneli- 
ness and  craving  for  company.  In  his  sleep  he  had 
seen  fleeting  visions  of  forms  and  faces  like  his  reflec- 
tion in  a  pool — like,  yet  unlike ;  soft,  curving  outlines, 
tinted  cheeks,  eyes  that  beamed,  and  white,  caressing 
hands  appeared  and  disappeared — fragmentary  and 
illusive.  He  could  not  distinctly  remember  them  when 
he  wakened,  but  their  influence  made  him  strangely 
happy,  strangely  miserable;  and  while  the  mood 
lasted  he  could  not  hunt  and  kill. 

Standing  knee-deep  in  a  shallow  pool  on  the  beach, 
staring  at  him  with  wide-open  dark  eyes,  was  the 
creature  that  had  screamed — a  living,  breathing  em- 
bodiment of  the  curves  and  color,  the  softness,  bright- 
ness, and  gentle  sweetness  that  his  subconsciousness 
knew.  There  were  the  familiar  eyes,  dark  and  lim- 
pid, wondering  but  not  frightened;  two  white  little 


344  PRIMORDIAL 

teeth  showing  between  parted  lips ;  a  wealth  of  long 
brown  hair  held  back  from  the  forehead  by  a  small 
hand ;  and  a  rounded,  dimpled  cheek,  the  damask  shad- 
ing of  which  merged  delicately  into  the  olive  tint  that 
extended  to  the  feet.  No  Venus  ever  arose  from  the 
sea  with  rarer  lines  of  beauty  than  were  combined  in 
the  picture  of  loveliness  which,  backed  by  the  blue  of 
the  lagoon,  appeared  to  the  astonished  eyes  of  this 
wild  boy.  It  was  a  girl — naked  as  Mother  Eve,  and 
as  innocently  shameless. 

In  the  first  confusion  of  his  faculties,  when  habit 
and  inherent  propensity  conflicted,  habit  dominated 
his  mind.  He  was  a  huntsman — feared  and  avoided: 
here  was  an  intruder.  He  raised  his  hatchet  to  throw, 
but  a  second  impulse  brought  it  slowly  down ;  she  had 
shown  no  fear — no  appreciation  of  what  the  gesture 
threatened.  Dropping  the  weapon  to  the  ground,  he 
advanced  slowly,  the  wonder  in  his  face  giving  way 
to  a  delighted  smile,  and  she  came  out  of  the  pool  to 
meet  him. 

Face  to  face  they  looked  into  each  other's  eyes — 
long  and  earnestly;  then,  as  though  the  scrutiny 
brought  approval,  the  pretty  features  of  the  girl 
sweetened  to  a  smile,  but  she  did  not  speak  nor  at- 
tempt to.  Stepping  past  him,  she  looked  back,  still 
smiling,  halted  until  he  followed,  and  then  led  him 
up  to  the  wall,  where,  on  a  level  with  the  ground, 
was  a  hollow  in  the  formation,  somewhat  similar  to 
his  cave,  but  larger.  Flowering  vines  grew  at  the 
entrance,  which  had  prevented  his  seeing  it  before. 
She  entered,  and  emerged  immediately  with  a  life- 
buoy, which  she  held  before  him,  the  action  and  smil- 
ing face  indicating  her  desire  that  he  admire  it. 

The  boy  thought  that  he  saw  his  property  in  the 


PRIMORDIAL  245 

possession  of  another  creature  and  resented  the 
spoliation.  With  an  angry  snarl  he  snatched  the  life- 
buoy and  backed  away,  while  the  girl,  surprised  and 
a  little  indignant,  followed  with  extended  hands.  He 
raised  it  threateningly,  and  though  she  did  not 
cower,  she  knew  intuitively  that  he  was  angry,  and 
feeling  the  injustice,  burst  into  tears;  then,  turning 
from  him,  she  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hands  and 
crouched  to  the  ground,  sobbing  piteously. 

The  face  of  the  boy  softened.  He  looked  from  the 
weeping  girl  to  the  life-buoy  and  back  again;  then, 
puzzled, — still  believing  it  to  be  his  own, — he  obeyed 
a  generous  impulse.  Advancing,  he  laid  the  treasure 
at  her  feet ;  but  she  turned  away.  Sober-faced  and 
irresolute,  not  knowing  what  to  do,  he  looked  around 
and  above.  A  pigeon  fluttered  on  a  branch  at  the 
edge  of  the  wood.  He  whipped  out  his  sling,  loaded 
it,  and  sent  a  stone  whizzing  upward.  The  pigeon 
fell,  and  he  was  beneath  it  before  it  reached  the 
ground.  Hurrying  back  with  the  dead  bird,  he 
placed  it  before  her;  but  she  shuddered  in  disgust 
and  would  not  touch  it.  Off  in  the  lagoon  a  mis- 
guided shark  was  swimming  slowly  along, — its  dorsal 
fin  cutting  the  surface, — a  full  two  hundred  yards 
from  the  beach.  He  ran  to  the  water's  edge,  looked 
back  once,  flourished  his  sling,  and  two  seconds  later 
the  shark  was  scudding  for  the  reef.  If  she  had 
seen,  she  evidently  was  not  impressed.  He  returned, 
picked  up  his  tomahawk  on  the  way,  idly  and  nerv- 
ously fingered  the  pebbles  in  his  pocket,  stood  a 
moment  over  the  sulky  girl,  and  then  studied  the  life- 
buoy on  the  ground.  A  light  came  to  his  eyes ;  with 
a  final  glance  at  the  girl  he  bounded  up  the  slope  and 
disappeared  in  the  woods. 


246  PRIMORDIAL 

Three  hours  later  he  returned  with  his  discarded 
fetish,  and  found  her  sitting  upright,  with  her  life- 
buoy on  her  knees.  She  smiled  gladly  as  he  ap- 
proached, then  pouted,  as  though  remembering. 
Panting  from  his  exertion,  he  humbly  placed  the 
faded,  scarred,  and  misshapen  ring  on  top  of  the 
brighter,  better-cared-for  possession  of  the  girl,  and 
stood,  mutely  pleading  for  pardon.  It  was  granted. 
Smiling  radiantly, — a  little  roguishly, — she  arose  and 
led  him  again  to  the  cave,  from  which  she  brought 
forth  another  treasure.  It  was  a  billet  of  wood, — 
a  dead  branch,  worn  smooth  at  the  ends, — around 
which  were  wrapped  faded,  half-rotten  rags  of  calico. 
Hugging  it  for  a  moment,  she  handed  it  to  him.  He 
looked  at  it  wonderingly  and  let  it  drop,  turning  his 
eyes  upon  her ;  then,  with  impatience  in  her  face,  she 
reclaimed  it,  entered  the  cave, — the  boy  following, 
— and  tenderly  placed  it  in  a  corner. 

It  was  her  doll.  Up  to  the  borders  of  womanhood 
— untutored,  unloved  waif  of  the  woods — living 
through  the  years  of  her  simple  existence  alone — she 
had  lavished  the  instinctive  mother-love  of  her  heart 
on  a  stick,  and  had  clothed  it,  though  not  herself. 

With  a  thoughtful  little  wrinkle  in  her  brow,  she 
studied  the  face  of  this  new  companion  who  acted 
so  strangely,  and  he,  equally  mystified,  looked  around 
the  cave.  A  pile  of  nuts  in  a  corner  indicated  her 
housewifely  thrift  and  forethought.  A  bed  of  dry 
moss  with  an  evenly  packed  elevation  at  the  end — 
which  could  be  nothing  but  a  pillow — showed  plainly 
the  manner  in  which  she  had  preserved  the  velvety 
softness  of  her  skin.  Tinted  shells  and  strips  of  faded 
calico,  arranged  with  some  approach  to  harmony  of 
color  around  the  sides  and  the  border  of  the  floor, 


PRIMORDIAL  247 

gave  evidence  of  the  tutelage  of  the  bower-birds,  of 
which  there  were  many  in  the  vicinity.  And  the  vines 
at  the  entrance  had  surely  been  planted — they  were 
far  from  others  of  the  kind.  In  her  own  way  she  had 
developed  as  fully  as  he.  As  he  stood  there,  wonder- 
ing at  what  he  saw,  the  girl  approached,  slowly  and 
irresolutely ;  then,  raising  her  hand,  she  softly  pressed 
the  tip  of  her  finger  into  his  shoulder. 

In  the  dim  and  misty  ages  of  the  past,  when  wan- 
dering bands  of  ape-like  human  beings  had  not  de- 
veloped their  tribal  customs  to  the  level  of  priestly 
ceremonies, — when  the  medicine-man  had  not  arisen, 
— a  marriage  between  a  man  and  young  woman  was 
generally  consummated  by  the  man  beating  the  girl 
into  insensibility,  and  dragging  her  by  the  hair  to 
his  cave.  Added  to  its  simplicity,  the  custom  had 
the  merit  of  improving  the  race,  as  unhealthy  and  ill- 
favored  girls  were  not  pursued,  and  similar  men  were 
clubbed  out  of  the  pursuit  by  stronger.  But  the 
process  was  necessarily  painful  to  the  loved  one,  and 
her  female  children  very  naturally  inherited  a  repug- 
nance to  being  wooed. 

When  a  civilized  young  lady,  clothed  and  well 
conducted,  anticipates  being  kissed  or  embraced  by 
her  lover,  she  places  in  the  way  such  difficulties  as 
are  in  her  power;  she  gets  behind  tables  and  chairs, 
runs  from  him,  compels  him  to  pursue,  and  expects 
him  to.  In  her  maidenly  heart  she  may  want  to  be 
kissed,  but  she  cannot  help  resisting.  She  obeys  the 
same  instinct  that  impelled  this  wild  girl  to  spring 
from  the  outstretched  arms  of  the  boy  and  go  scream- 
ing out  of  the  cave  and  down  the  beach  in  simulated 
terror — an  instinct  inherited  from  the  prehistoric 
mother,  who  fled  for  dear  life  and  a  whole  skin  from 


348  PRIMORDIAL 

a  man  behind  armed  with  a  club  and  bent  upon  mar- 
riage. 

Shouting  hoarsely,  the  boy  followed,  in  what,  if 
he  had  been  called  upon  to  classify  it,  might  have 
seemed  to  him  a  fury  of  rage,  but  it  was  not.  He 
would  not  have  harmed  the  girl,  for  he  lacked  the 
tribal  education  that  induces  cruelty  to  the  weaker 
sex.  But  he  did  not  catch  her;  he  stubbed  his  toe 
and  fell,  arising  with  a  bruised  kneecap  which  pre- 
vented further  pursuit.  Slowly,  painfully,  he  limped 
back,  tears  welling  in  his  eyes  and  increasing  to  a 
copious  flood  as  he  sat  down  with  his  back  to  the  girl 
and  nursed  his  aching  knee.  It  was  not  the  pain  that 
brought  the  tears ;  he  was  hardened  to  physical  suf- 
fering. But  his  feelings  had  been  hurt  beyond  any 
disappointment  of  the  hunt  or  terror  of  the  storm, 
and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  since  his  babyhood 
he  wept — like  the  intellectual  child  that  he  was. 

A  soft,  caressing  touch  on  his  head  aroused  him 
and  brought  him  to  his  feet.  She  stood  beside  him, 
tears  in  her  own  eyes,  and  sympathy  overflowing  in 
every  feature  of  the  sweet  face.  From  her  lips  came 
little  cooing,  gurgling  sounds  which  he  endeavored  to 
repeat.  It  was  their  first  attempt  at  communication, 
and  the  sounds  that  they  used — understood  by  moth- 
ers and  infants  of  all  races — were  the  first  root-words 
of  a  new  language.  He  extended  his  arms,  and 
though  she  held  back  slightly,  while  a  faint  smile 
responded  to  his  own,  she  did  not  resist,  and  he  drew 
her  close — forgetting  his  pain  as  he  pressed  his  lips 
to  hers. 


UNIVERSITY  of  CALIFORNIA 

AT 


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